Across Time And Space
by Annaelle
Summary: Seventeen year old Emma Swan unwittingly and accidentally falls through a mysterious portal that lands her in the middle of the ocean, only to be saved by a young, dashing lieutenant, and to be brought aboard the Jewel of The Realm. Will she be able to find her home? And if she does... Will she still want to go? Lieutenant Duckling with eventual progression to Captain Swan.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a little idea that kept playing over and over in my head. So... If you guys like where this has started, please let me know and I will continue. **

**If I do continue, I don't think this will be a long fic. Oh, do please let me know what you think might happen-and some things you would like to see happen; aside from the obvious CS-love. **

**This is therapy to get through the two-week haitus... For all of us, I hope. **

**I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Across Time And Space**

She's going insane.

That's the only explanation.

There's no fucking way that any of this—not the ship, not the people on it, not the smell of the ocean (or the crew)—is real.

None of it.

Especially not the young Lieutenant that's on his knees next to her, his clothes as soaked as hers, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, making his eyes seem even bluer—_Jesus, Emma, no! _She scolds herself internally.

"Miss, are you alright?" His voice is soft, quivering slightly, as though he is as confused as she is—he probably is too; she'd be surprised if he has to fish seventeen year old girls out of the ocean every day—, his hands hovering over her shoulders, almost touching her…

But not quite.

He repeats the question when she remains silent, and she nearly curses her own luck, because really?

Irish? He just has to be Irish?

She sits up carefully, still a little shaky and dizzy, nodding slowly as she tries to process what the hell had happened.

Her gaze slides over the crowded deck—everyone's staring at her, and she suddenly feels even more self-aware than before. Her clothes are drenched, clinging to her skin, and she is in the presence of at least thirty men, all of them leering at her.

Well, all but the Lieutenant, who is still on his knees next to her.

She swallows thickly, because as much as she wants to be though and strong, she's well aware that if the men decide to team up against her, she won't stand a chance. She isn't sure what is going on—or why the fuck they are dressed like they are sailors in 18th century England—nor how she dropped herself onto her shabby bed in the orphanage and then suddenly found herself falling into the freaking ocean, before being dragged out by Mister-Lieutenant-Playing-Hero, but the only conceivable explanation she can come up with is that she is hallucinating.

Or she's finally lost her mind.

She wouldn't be surprised—she'd honestly expected to lose it a long time ago.

"I'm—" her voice hitches, and her teeth chatter as the cold wind blows across the deck, reminding her just how cold and wet she is. His blue eyes widen, and for a moment, she thinks she can see genuine concern for her pass through his eyes, but then she reminds herself that nobody cares about her—a dirty, thieving little orphan—and that he probably just doesn't want to look like a fool before his crew.

"Someone wake the Captain! And fetch warm blankets!" He shouts suddenly, and the men scatter across the ship as he helps her to her feet gently, and he's too sweet and genuine as he leads her below deck, chattering non-stop about how he's so sorry for not realizing how cold it was sooner, and that he hopes she'll forgive him, but that he's quite shaken up about suddenly seeing her adrift in the middle of the ocean, and that his Captain will certainly help her, and it makes her want to scream.

She just wants him to shut up, and to let her go, and to stop being so goddamn _sincere_—because he makes her want to trust him, and she can't.

She can't trust anyone.

She doesn't need anyone—especially not a straight-laced, prim and proper, 18th century Lieutenant who probably has a whole lot of better uses for his time than to be concerned about her.

Before she honestly really realizes where they are going, he ushers her into a large, neat cabin, closing the door behind him. She looks around, still a little dazed, and quite overwhelmed by everything, unsure of what is going to happen now.

"Please," he says softly, rushing towards her again and leading her towards a small, cushioned bench that seems to be a part of the ship rather than a piece of furniture that was brought onto the ship later on, "Please, sit. I'll—" he flails a little, looking around the cabin desperately, and for the first time, she realizes how _young_ he is.

She's sure he's not much older than she is, and somehow, she finds that a little comforting.

He looks as out of his dept as she feels.

She catches his hand in both of hers, wincing at how cold his skin is—he must be freezing as much as she is—and smiles tentatively. He's staring at her now, once again on his knees before her, his eyes large, and concerned and so goddamn _blue_, and his voice is like fucking music to her ears as he mutters another apology for his 'bad form'.

She's not sure what he means by that, but she gathers that he thinks he's being stupid—which he is, but it's cute, and it's not really bothering her—so she smiles at him and squeezes his hand softly. "Thank you," she says slowly, a little put off by how foreign the words feel as they fall from her lips, "For diving in and saving me."

His answering smile is wide and radiant, and her heart skips a beat as he squeezes her hand in return. " 'twas the only proper course of action, miss," he smiles, "I would rather be damned than let a beautiful lass such as yourself drown."

Her eyes widen a little at the compliment, and a heartbeat later, his cheeks flush, and he starts stuttering again—Emma really can't help herself; he's just _so_ adorable.

She giggles, dropping his hand to press both of hers to her lips, to stifle the giggles that fall from her lips, the weight of the situation finally dawning on her, her giggling transforming into heavy, hysterical sobbing—she had no idea where (or when, for that matter) she is, what is happening, whether she's dreaming or whether she just lost her mind and all she can think about is that the Lieutenant is too fucking adorable for his own good.

Before he can do more than gape at her, his hands rising hesitantly, as though he wants to pull her closer and comfort her, the door slams open, banging against the wall, and she jumps, whimpering softly as a tall man strides into the cabin, his hair disheveled and his vest not properly buttoned. "Killian!" He exclaims, not yet looking at her, only at the Lieutenant—whose name is Killian, apparently—as he scrambles to his feet clumsily.

"Liam—" Killian breaks off hesitantly and then shakes his head, "Captain." Emma wonders briefly why he switched from informal to formal, but then realizes it's probably because of her—and then she just doesn't care anymore and curls into the soft cushions as much as she can, shivering a little, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

Liam finally seems to notice her, his eyes widening a little, and she cowers under his intense gaze, unsure where this vulnerable, frightened, _emotional_ side of her is suddenly coming from.

"I'm sorry," he finally breaks the silence, approaching her, "I was concerned for my Lieutenant for a moment; I do hope you will forgive me for my poor manners. Are you quite alright?" Emma frowns a little at that—she really doesn't get why they are all so _nice_ and _concerned_ and so fucking _polite_.

She just wants them to tell her where she is and what the fastest way back home is.

Her eyes fall on the young Lieutenant again, who's standing slightly behind the captain, his cheeks still flushed and his hair and clothes and everything as soaked as she is—and the sight of him just makes her burst.

"No!" She cries, jumping to her feet—only hindered slightly by her tight, sticky jeans—, "No, I'm not okay! I have no idea where I am, who you all are and why you're dressed up like it's fucking Halloween—" both men simply look confused at that, but she ploughs on, because she _needs _to fucking say this before she explodes, "—and I just want to go _home_."

Tears are blurring in her eyes and she's breathing heavily as her voice breaks on the last word. "And you!" She whirls to glare at Lieutenant Killian, "You're as fucking soaked as I am and you're only talking about how cold I must be while your own balls must be freezing off by now because your lips are fucking turning blue—what the hell is up with that?"

Though obviously dumbstruck by her tirade, the Captain turns to look at his Lieutenant speechlessly, taking in his appearance slowly, before shaking his head. "Killian, go change into something dry, you fool."

Emma watches as Killian's head snaps back and forth between her and the Captain a few times before he nods and hurries from the room, stumbling over his own feet three times before he manages to straighten up. She can't stop herself from giggling a little—she always pegged naval officers for a bunch of stuck up morons; but these two seem okay.

She's not sure what to make of the Captain just yet, but her Lieutenant seems … Okay. She supposes she could … maybe… possibly… ask him to help get her home.

She swallows thickly and drags her eyes away from the door, shivering a little as the sticky cold fabric of her shirt drags across her sensitive skin. She jumps when someone suddenly drapes a thick, warm blanket across her shoulders, and she looks up, slightly startled by the Captain's suddenly proximity. "How did you end up so far from shore, miss—?" He trails of a little, and she's shaken from her stupor when Killian slinks back into the room.

"Swan," she says shakily, looking at Killian—who looks decidedly warmer and less blue—, "Emma Swan. And I—" She shakes her head. "I don't know. I mean, one minute I was fine, and sitting on my bed, and then the next I was…" she gestures around vaguely, shivering a little, "Here," she finishes lamely.

Despair washes over her again and she blinks furiously, pushing back the treacherous tears that are burning in her eyes. She looks up at the two men before her, her lower lip trembling slightly as she hugs the blanket tighter around her. "I want to go home," she whispers, "I don't know how I got here, or where I am, I just really want to go home. Please."

The two men exchange a look before Killian approaches her, kneeling before her _again_—that's really becoming his thing, isn't it?—and taking her hands in his hesitantly. "We can help you," he says slowly, glancing over his shoulder at his Captain again, "Just tell us where you need to go. I'm sure we can…" he hesitates and looks down at their hands, "I'm sure we can find a way to your home."

"No," she shakes her head, unsure of how to voice her dilemma, "no, you don't get it, this isn't real—in my world, none of this is real, and people don't act and talk like you two do anymore, and I don't know where I am… How can I tell you where to go if I don't even know where we are?"

Her voice rises in level as she speaks, and by the time she's at the end of her sentence, she's basically yelling at him—_again_—that really is becoming her thing now, isn't it?

Despite how ridiculous and psychotic she's being, he stays calm and smiles at her, telling her that she will be okay, and that they will find a way, rubbing his thumb over her palm slowly, trying to soothe her—and damn him, but it's working.

She's feeling calmer.

"Okay," she nods, squeezing his hand a little tighter—because even if she can't trust anyone, and even though she knows she should just rely on herself, she really, _really_ wants to be able to lean on someone right now—because she can't handle everything.

And being sent to a world where gentlemen and heroes still exist is one of those things she just can't process on her own.

Her eyes lift to meet his—his impossibly blue eyes—and she tells herself it's okay to rely on him for now. He makes her feel safe; and though that's absolutely terrifying, it's also strangely comforting. She _wants_ to feel safe, for once.

He nods, smiling happily, and jumps to his feet again, starting to rummage in one of the hidden cupboards—she doesn't know _how_ she missed that huge-ass cupboard—watching slightly confused as he exchanges a few whispered words with the Captain before the latter nods and leaves her and Killian alone, Killian rummaging through the cupboard for a few more moments.

The silence is almost too much for her—it feels heavy and thick and she really hates it.

"So," she drawls slowly, snuggling into the blanket a little deeper, "What are we doing now? I mean… I'm sure you guys have better things to do than look after a stray girl you fished out of the ocean." Killian turns around and shakes his head at her. "We would never put trivial business such as errands above someone's life, miss Swan."

When he's standing in front of her again, she realizes he's holding dry clothes, and furrows her eyebrows confusedly—she's never going to fit in those.

He looks down with a slightly sheepish smile and mutters, "Well, your garments cannot dry like that, and I would hate for you to fall ill." He holds up the shirt and breeches and adds, "At least in these, you will be warm and dry. We can purchase clothes for you in the next harbor if need be—and you can wear your own clothes until you do. Once they're dry, of course."

She smiles a little, but allows him to ramble as she takes the clothes from him; he's right, those'll be more comfortable than her own soaking wet jeans. He takes a deep breath and gestures around the cabin. "You may spend the night in here—I will sleep with the crew—you should be quite comfortable here; it is the best bed besides my broth—the Captain's."

She stares at him for a good moment after that, unsure of what to say. "You're… You're letting me sleep in your room?" she asks in disbelief, because from what she knows about the crew's quarters—which isn't all that much, to be honest—they're quite uncomfortable and smell like hell, and if he's willingly sleeping there to let her sleep here…

That has to be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for her.

And the scariest.

He nods, the smile still lingering on his lips, though he does look confused. "Of course," he replies, "It would be bad form of me not to give up my quarters to my guest."

She opens her mouth and then closes it again immediately, looking down at the floor, her cheeks burning. She honestly doesn't know why she's responding like this to him calling her '_his_' guest—it's not like he means anything special by it.

It's like he said; it's just good form.

She manages a weak smile when he nods tersely and wishes her goodnight, and tells her not to hesitate to find him or the Captain if she required anything.

"Hey," she managed to choke out, "You know my name… It'd be nice if I knew who to ask for tomorrow morning… Lieutenant sounds so..." she bites her lip a little, because she really can't believe that she's _flirting_ with someone she's probably just made up with her completely cuckoo mind, but then decides that it really doesn't matter.

If this is all in her head, she might as well enjoy it.

"…_ Impersonal_," she finishes, trying to hide her smile when his cheeks turn bright red.

"K—Killian," he stutters, "Killian Jones." He manages a sweet, sincere smile as he opens the door. "Goodnight, miss Swan."

Emma grins, hugging his clothes to her chest as she mutters a soft, "Goodnight, Lieutenant Jones."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone. **

**Massive response to the first chapter-seriously. I nearly had a heart attack when I woke up in the morning to find over a 100 emails in my inbox. Thank you all _so_ much for taking the time to read my little drabble-and to like it as much as you all did. **

**I hope this next little chapter will live up to your expectations, though I do want to warn you. Starting next chapter, we will be time jumping-sometimes days, weeks or years. This is going to be a very short story, so I will be leaving a lot of it to your own imagination.  
Please, do take the time to leave me a review before you go, telling me what you think. If there is a specific event you would like to see happen, let me know, and I will definitely take it into consideration. **

**I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**.**

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**Across Time And Space**

When she wakes up, the sky is still dark, but slowly going from that deep, rich midnight black to the soft, comforting deep blue that precedes sunrise.

At first, she's not entirely sure _where_ she is; or why her bed is swaying slightly; nor why the sounds of the other children in the orphanage sound so different all of a sudden. She can hear the soft rushing of water of the shower—though it's different than she remembers.

_What the hell is going on?_

She blinks up at the ceiling confusedly, trying to remember when she moved to a room with a solid wooden ceiling; a room that smells like the sea; a room that makes her feel like she's safe. Slowly, she sits up, careful not to bump her head on the low ceiling as she rubs her temples, trying to make sense of the mess that are her memories.

Her head feels fuzzy, and the room just won't quit swaying, which does not help her pounding headache _at all_.

She pulls down the sleeves of the oversized shirt she's wearing, rubbing the tip of her sleeve over her nose, trying to sort dreams from reality—she remembers blue eyes, a smile that made her heart skip a few beats, the smell of the ocean…

She remembers Killian Jones.

Her eyes snap open and she stares at the shirt she's wearing, her eyes widening slightly at the realization that she's wearing _his_ shirt.

"No," she breathes, shaking her head at herself, "No, this isn't real. No way."

But the sound of the water softly slapping against the hull of the ship is unmistakable, and, now that she's listening closely, she can hear the crew bustling up on deck, and someone—whether Killian or the Captain—shouting orders.

Emma tugs her fingers through her messy, knotted hair and wrinkles her nose; salt water and her hair do not mix well. She runs her fingers through the knots (she really doesn't want to look like a hag or a troll when she sees Killian again) and tries to convince herself that somehow, this will turn out okay. Last night, when she'd curled up in his bunk, she'd told herself it was a dream; that there was no Lieutenant Killian Jones, who could make her blush by simply smiling at her and make her heart skip a beat, was real.

She would wake up in her own, shabby little bed in the orphanage, and she'd go back to her shitty life.

She looks around the cabin, shaking her head at herself.

Obviously, that hasn't happened.

She sighs heavily, closing her eyes and resting her forehead on her knees. _What am I supposed to do now?_ Her stomach rumbles loudly and suddenly in response, and Emma winces at the reminder of how long it's been since she's last eaten.

It takes her a few moments to pull herself together, and to fully realize that sitting around and brooding really isn't going to help her get home—she needs to man up and get dressed, find the Captain or Killian and get a plan in motion.

She needs to go home.

She hops from the bed and starts collecting her clothes, wincing when she pulls the stiff fabric of her jeans over her bare legs; dried salt and jeans do not agree.

For a moment, she deliberates exchanging the comfortable, soft shirt Killian gave her for her own shirt, but discards that idea rather quickly—her shirt is no better off than her jeans. She tucks the shirt in the top of her jeans quickly, running her fingers through her hair nervously, fleetingly wondering if she looks okay.

As soon as she realizes what she's doing, she scolds herself, shaking her head at how utterly _ridiculous_ she's being. _'He's not real, Emma,'_ she reminds herself firmly, nodding to herself. '_He's just a part of the dream. Don't go there.'_

She repeats those words over and over again as she leaves the cabin, stumbling her way through the narrow passageways until she finds the stairs that lead—thank God—to deck. She gulps in the fresh, salty air gratefully, enjoying the soft breeze that ruffles her messy curls (she completely ignores the men hustling and bustling about deck, pushing past her one after the other).

She's silently marveling over her own imagination (she can't believe she came up with smells and sounds and visions that make it feel _so_ extremely real) when a booming voice from behind her makes her jump at least a foot in the air.

"Ah, miss Swan!"

She turns around, smiling nervously at the Captain as he approaches her—she has no idea why he makes her so nervous, but the fact remains that he _does_ and she really hates that. It's bad enough that his lieutenant makes her blush and stutter like a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl (never mind that she _is_ seventeen and technically still in high school), she really doesn't need the Captain to make her feel more vulnerable.

"Captain," she smiles tightly, wrapping her arms around herself, the breeze suddenly feeling a lot colder. He stops in front of her, returning her smile in kind and nodding. "I trust you had a good night's rest? Lieutenant Jones informed me he gave up his cabin so that you may enjoy the comforts of a real bed."

Emma's smile softens a little at the memory of Killian's flushed cheeks, and she nods. "Yeah, he did. And I slept really well." She shakes herself from her temporary stupor and uncrosses her arms. "Is there anything I can do on the ship?" She asks, eyeing the Captain carefully—she's not some weak little damsel; if they're going to be helping her, she might as well return the favor.

She has two very capable hands, and she wants—no, she _needs_—to be busy.

The Captain opens his mouth to reply when one of the men interrupts them, smiling sheepishly at Emma, clenching his fingers around his hat. "Captain, pardon the interruption. The men were wondering whether we would be making port soon—the rations are running low, and some of the men," he hesitates and shoots a fleeting glance at Emma, "Some of the men worry that we might not have enough with an extra passenger on board."

"Nonsense," Killian's voice rings out from behind her, making her jump and blush (what is it about it him that makes her _blush_ all the damn time?). Slowly, she turns to look at him, biting her lip slightly when she catches herself staring at him for a bit too long.

Damn those pretty blue eyes of his.

When he's joined them, standing tall and proud at her side, she finally decides she can chance a look at the Captain, who looks oddly amused. "Yes," he drawls slowly, "As Lieutenant Jones here so eloquently said, this is utter nonsense. Miss Swan is a woman, not an elephant. I am most certain our rations will hold until tomorrow."

The crew member nods slowly and smiles apologetically. "I am sorry," he addresses her directly, "I was merely expressing the rest of the men's concern." The Captain nods with a gentle smile. "We understand. Back to your work now, Stiles." The man—Stiles, she reminds herself—nods and retreats, going back to whatever he was doing earlier.

"So," the Captain smiles, "I'll leave you in my brother's capable hands. He will be sure to distribute one of the minor tasks on the ship to you." She smiles gratefully at him—she's glad he seems to understand her need to _do_ something—before the first part of his sentence registers. "Wow—wait up," she throws up her hands and shakes her head, looking between her Lieutenant—_not yours, Emma_, she reminds herself—and the Captain, "your _brother_?" She pouts at Killian and crosses her arms over her chest. "You did not mention that."

She's aware of the Captain chuckling under his breath when he leaves them, but she's completely focused on Killian. She knows she's being a little ridiculous (he doesn't have to tell her anything), but she feels blindsided nonetheless. "I was not aware that I needed to tell you about my family relations after I saved you from the water, miss Swan," Killian offers with a slight smile, "I will remember it for next time."

She grumbles under her breath a little, not dropping her stance in the slightest.

He smiles genuinely at her, not once mocking her for how childish she must look right now (God knows she has a stubborn—and slightly petulant—streak a mile wide), and offers her his arm. "Allow me to escort you to the galley—you have not eaten yet, I presume?"

At the mere mention of food, her stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud, and he chuckles a little as her cheeks start to burn. "I'll take that as a no, shall I?" He responds charmingly as she links her arm with his, allowing him to lead her back towards the stairs.

They chatter inconsequently on their way to the galley, and Emma needs to restrain the urge to slap herself in the face more than once for swooning over how gentleman-like he's being.

She needs to remind herself time and again that he's not real, and that she can't feel anything for him.

He'll disappear sooner or later, when she wakes up again.

The thought depresses her a little bit, and she's pretty sure he notices as he offers her a seat at the long table while he fetches them both some of the very unappealing hardtack (then again, she's so hungry she'd probably eat _him_ if she doesn't get food in her stomach soon).

She snatches the hardtack out of his hands as soon as he's within reach, nearly devouring the first piece in one bite, only noticing Killian's amused gaze on her when her mouth's so full, she can barely chew enough to swallow.

She swallows thickly, biting her lip softly as she looks up into his eyes, her cheeks burning—_again_—as he smiles down at her. She'd never admit it out loud, but she really likes how he's just that little bit taller than her (then again, she's going with the this-is-a-dream-and-I-made-everything-and-everyone-up-theory, so she supposes that it's only logical that he'd be the perfect man for her).

"I was hungry," she whispers sheepishly, unsure why she feels the need to make sure he doesn't find her annoying . He grins at her, taking a bite from his own hardtack. "I can tell," he responds, "Do you want another piece?"

She accepts his offer gratefully, eating this piece a little slower, trying to enjoy the taste of the tough biscuit.

"Would you allow me to escort you to town when we make port tomorrow?" Killian blurts suddenly, and she's so startled, she does nothing but stare at him for a long, tense moment, her mouth slightly ajar. His cheek flame bright red, and his eyes lower to stare at his hardtack as he starts stuttering again. Her heart clenches, and on an impulse, she grabs his hand in hers, smiling tentatively at him. "Of course I would," she says softly, trying to ignore how goose bumps sprout over her entire arm when he rubs his thumb over her palm.

They stare at each other for another, long moment before she decides she can't take more (she really needs to remember she can't trust people) and pulls away from him. "Okay," she breathes, "What now?" Killian seems to shake himself, smiling brightly at her.

"Well, miss Swan," he drawls, "I do believe my brother promised you work—let's get to that." He stands and offers her his arm once again.

She suppresses a giggle and allows him to help her to her feet. "Yes," she smiles, "Let's."

.

.

.

"So," Killian states, pulling the rope she's been trying to knot the way he seems to do it so effortlessly for the past hour from her hands, "you live with a certain family for a few weeks and then get sent on to the next?" He wrinkles his nose in distaste, and she whole-heartedly agrees with that sentiment, "Who in their right minds would inflict such cruelty on a child?"

Emma shrugs a little, fiddling with a stray piece of rope as she watches his hands twist the rope that she had been trying to knot, "The system itself isn't _too_ bad," she concedes, "It's just… Most of the families in it aren't there for the right reasons. That's what makes it horrible."

She looks out over the water, staring into the distance, where she can make out the shore and the small town's harbor, and misses the tender look Killian shoots her. Slowly, he reaches out to touch her hand, smiling gently at her when she turns back to him. "I'm sorry," he says softly, "That you went through such a horrid ordeal. No one deserves that."

Emma chokes, staring at him open-mouthed. She has absolutely no _fucking_ clue how she's supposed to respond to that. Part of her wants to rip her hand from his and yell at him, tell him that she doesn't need his pity, that she can get by just fine on her own (there's a very large and unfortunate dominant part of her that wants to yell the exact opposite), but she reigns in that particular urge when she realizes just how _serious_ he is.

He's actually feeling bad about how she was treated.

"I—" she starts, wincing at how her voice shakes, "It's not so bad now," she shrugs, trying to make light of the heavy moment, "the orphanage is nicer than any of the families I have ever been with, so…"

Killian nods, tossing aside the now-knotted rope, and smiles at her. "And you must have friends now," he states, looking down uncomfortably as he continues, "A suitor waiting for you to return to him." She snorts unattractively, to which he only responds with a raised eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes and sighs. "I don't really date," she shakes her head, "Most guys aren't interested either. So no," she smiles when he looks adorably confused, "No suitor waiting for me." Her stomach clenches as she drops her gaze to their hands, "Nobody's waiting for me at all," she whispers so softly, she's sure he didn't hear.

"They're fools then," Killian says softly, squeezing his fingers around hers gently, "I can think of a number of men about this ship who would beg at your feet for so little as a kind word or a smile from you, miss Swan."

"Lucky you then," she smiles a little, trying not to blush _too much_, biting her lip a little, "You've been hogging me since yesterday—I'm sure I've given you plenty of smiles already."

Killian's nose crinkles, and though she can tell he's confused, he still blushes a tiny little bit, and that makes her feel slightly less foolish for blushing so damn much around him. "I am sorry," he responds slowly, "I'm not sure what that means, but yes," he smiles, "You have given me plenty of smiles—though I do hope there are far more to come."

A small, unbidden, _real_ smile breaks through on Emma's lips before she can stop it, and a small giggle escapes from her lips. "Are you—" she bites her lip and continues, "Are you flirting with me?" Killian's eyes widen almost comically and his jaw drops, and Emma can't contain her laughter anymore. "That's not very good form of you, is it, Lieutenant?" She teases, poking his arm, winking to get her point across.

"I was not flirting," he protests weakly, his flaming red cheeks contracting every word he says. "You were too," Emma giggles, "You said you'd beg at my feet for a smile and a kind word!" Killian doesn't respond as she continues teasing him, though he does try to hush her several times when the other men walk past them.

Eventually, Liam calls him up to the helm of the ship, to steer them into the harbor, and she follows Killian, teasingly singing in his ear, "You love my smile… You'd beg at my feet for one." He stops suddenly, and she nearly crashes into him, swallowing thickly when he swivels around, staring her down (damn his blue, blue eyes) with a smirk on his face.

"Miss Swan," he breathes, and he's so close she can feel his breath on her lips, and it makes her tingle in ways it should definitely _not_ be doing, "I do enjoy your smile and company, but for now," he continues, "Please do shut up, _before_ my brother hears."

She can't stop giggling the whole time he's steering the ship expertly into the harbor.

He's a stupid, made-up sailor.

But it really does look like he's _her_ sailor.

.

.

.

She doesn't have enough eyes.

That's the only conclusion she can draw as she turns her head from side to side, trying to take in everything at once, feeling more than a little overwhelmed (though also strangely enchanted) by the bustling liveliness of the small village.

There are merchants and stalls everywhere, and there's so much color, so many new smells, so many people…

She can't decide where to look first.

She knows Killian is standing right behind her (he's so close she can practically feel his body heat), probably rolling his eyes at her—she has to look like a gawking tourist, there's just no way around that, but she really just doesn't care.

This place is amazing.

"We will have to start moving, miss Swan," Killian says gently, moving to touch her elbow, "Liam will be expecting us at Lady Luciana's house in a two hours." Emma turns to him, nodding slowly. "I have one request though," she states as she links her arm through his pro-offered one. "Please call me Emma. Miss Swan's too…" She smirks as she recalls the previous night and how she weaseled his name from him, "_impersonal_."

"Emma," he repeats slowly, almost like he's tasting how her name feels on his lips. She tries to ignore how utterly _deliciously _his accent wraps around her name, but a small part of her is telling her to pat herself on the back, because asking him to call her Emma is the smartest thing she's ever done.

"Come then, Emma," he smiles broadly, "Allow me to show you where to purchase the kind of garments you will need if you stay here for a while." She willingly lets him lead her through the crowd, still a little overwhelmed by this … Other realm, as Killian called it earlier, and very unwilling to lose the only guide she knows she can trust.

He stops in front of a small stall, tucked away in a corner, and she's sure she would have missed it had he not lead her to it. Clothes and fabrics are spread out over the table, in the most bright and beautiful colors Emma has ever seen, and she can't resist the urge to touch every single item. "Killian Jones!" An old voice croaks, and Emma jumps lightly when an old, sweet-looking woman appears on the other end of the table, "It truly has been too long, m'boy," the woman coos affectionately, ruffling his hair while he crinkles his nose.

Emma bites her lip so she won't laugh at him, but the way the woman is treating him is really, really cute.

"Hello Adie," Killian smiles broadly, moving to hug the woman, "It's lovely to see you. Liam told me to give you his love; he was very busy today, but he hopes to be able to pay you a visit tomorrow." Emma watches, slightly uncomfortable, as the woman pecks Killian on each cheek twice and then turns her attention to her.

"Who's this, m'boy?" She practically shoves Killian aside to get to Emma, and Emma really doesn't know how to respond to that. "This is Emma," Killian says (and she swears, for a second, he looks proud), "She is… She…" He frowns and then shakes his head. "It is very complicated."

Adie's looking at her intently, and Emma squirms a little, looking at Killian over her shoulder with wide eyes. She glares at him when he merely grins at her, before all of her attention is drawn back to Adie, who's started rambling about clothes and sizes, and before Emma is fully aware of what's going on, her arms are full of clothes—tunics, shirts, leather trousers, linen trousers, socks, and so much more.

"I—what—" she stutters, staring at the little old lady before her.

Adie stares at her like she's the one who's acting insane and shakes her head. "Go try those on, you silly girl—I'm sure you and Killy don't have all day."

Emma nearly drops everything she's holding as she swivels around to look at Killian (red-face, she knew it! He's adorable when he blushes), mouthing, '_Killy?_' at him. His jaw clenches and he silently glares at her—she smirks back and winks at him.

"Of course," Emma smiles broadly, moving into the improved changing booth.

Not even twenty minutes later, Emma's standing back next to Killian, her purchases piled up in his arms, Adie smiling broadly at them. "You bring this one back to see me again, Killian," she orders her Lieutenant, and Emma can't suppress her chuckle at his almost permanent blush. "I will," he promises, bidding goodbye to Adie before leading Emma away from the stall, further into the village.

"So who is she, _Killy_?" Emma teases, tugging at his arm playfully. "She's…" He hesitates, "She's the only mother Liam and I had. She raised us when our father abandoned us—until we were old enough to join the Navy."

Emma stops dead in her tracks, her stomach sinking as she stares at him. "You were orphans?" She chokes, unsure why that makes her feel closer to him than she feels comfortable being. He looks down and nods. "Aye. Mother died when I was born and father abandoned us when I was seven." Before she can stop herself, she reaches for his free hand and squeezes it softly. "I'm sorry," she whispers, "that something so horrid happened to you."

A small smile tugs on his lips, and her heart skips a beat—she pulls her hand away from his and looks away immediately. She's not uncomfortable with being this close to him at all—and that scares the crap out of her.

She swallows at his barely audible sigh, only looking up when he offers her his arm again. "Come lass," he mumbles, "Liam and Lady Luciana will be waiting for us." Still deep in thought, she lets him guide her through the village, barely paying attention to where he's taking her. She needs to remember that she shouldn't trust Killian too much—she can't trust people.

She needs to go home; she can't stay here.

She can't risk falling in love with Killian.

Ever.

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes, allowing herself a long of moment to appreciate just how handsome her sailor is—because he is.

She just wishes he could be hers.

Her eyes drop back to her feet, and she sighs.

He can't be.

But that doesn't mean the dream will disappear; she doubts if she will ever forget about him.

She's shaken from her thoughts when he stops, looking up at the modest townhouse in front of them. "Is this it?" she asks, looking up at him with a soft smile that she really can't hide (he just makes her smile all the time).

"Yes," he replies, "it is."

She swallows thickly, nerves suddenly settling deep in the pit of her stomach—Killian told her that if this woman couldn't help her, he wasn't sure when they would find someone else who could.

"It'll be okay, you know?"

She looks up at him, biting her lip harshly to keep her tears at bay. "How do you know that?" He shrugs and smiles at her. "I just do. It will work out. Just have faith. We'll find a way."

For some, insane, stupid reason, she believes him.

She actually believes him.

"Okay," she whispers, nodding slowly, "Okay. Let's do this."

.

.

.

As Emma looks around the cabin, a sudden wave of desperation washes over her, and all the walls that she's been fighting _so_ hard to keep up around Killian just tumble down, and she crashes against him, allowing him to catch her as she bursts into tears. "What if I never get home?" She hiccups, tears rolling down her cheeks, staining his pristine white vest.

Lady Luciana had been helpful enough—she'd provided them with a portal bean, given them all the information they needed to use it and warned them about the dangers it entailed. And then she'd look straight at Emma and told her that the bean wasn't going to be enough to get her home.

_"A bean can create a portal to another realm, dearie,"_ the woman had said, her voice eerily high and shrill, _"But it cannot travel across time; in my knowledge, nothing has ever passed the great barrier of time. Not without grave consequence. This bean will not get you to your land."_

Her fingers clench on his shirt, and she closes her eyes as she tries to remind herself that not all hope is lost yet; they _have_ the bean. "We will find a way, love," Killian whispers in her ear, his lips brushing past her temple, "We found the bean already; we'll find a way to create a portal that allows time travel too." She shivers, flexing her fingers against his linen shirt.

How does he always know what to say to her?

"How do you know that?" She whimpers, looking up at him, blinking her tears away furiously, "What if I'm stuck here for the rest of my life?" His eyes are wide and bright and he smiles softly at her, rubbing his thumb over her cheek to wipe away her lingering tears. "Then I will take care of you, lass," he says gently, "until the day you decide you no longer wish me to."

Emma's heart skips several beats at the conviction and the pure _truth_ in his eyes. He's absolutely serious—and that's what scares her the most. She's never _ever_ allowed herself to be this close to anyone; physically and emotionally.

She's always expected people to hurt her as soon as she got close to them, and it's hard to remember that Killian isn't going to be one of those people. She still doesn't know whether or not this is real, whether or not she's dreaming… But she knows that he's not going to hurt her.

Real or not.

Suddenly, she's fully aware of how close they are, his body pressing against hers—but there's nothing about the feel of him so close to her that makes her feel uncomfortable or uneasy (nothing about him ever has).

"What if that day never comes?" She finally whispers in reply, her eyes flickering down to his lips before she finally gathers up enough courage to look him in the eye again. She knows he's never seen her as the dirty, thieving, little orphan, but somehow, the mere thought of him thinking of her like that makes her feel sick.

His answering smile is bright and beautiful, and her breathing hitches when he tilts his head closer, their faces now so close together that their noses brush against each other and their breaths mingle. "Then I will live out my days in happiness," he breathes, his fingers brushing over the skin on the nape off her neck, curling into her silky blonde locks, "by your side."

They move almost simultaneously, her fingers curling in the lapels of his navy blue jacket, pulling him closer just as he moves to pull her in, their lips meeting in the middle, both of them holding their breaths for a split-second as their lips finally, _finally_ meet.

Emma sighs softly, her lips parting beneath his, willingly allowing him to pull her closer to him (like that is even possible), and to deepen the kiss. She marvels over the feeling of his fingers sliding over her scalp as he twines his fingers in her hair, her knees feeling very weak all of a sudden.

He's not the first boy she's kissed… But he's the very first to make her feel like she'll faint if he stops kissing her. His lips are incredibly soft, and she shivers as her own tongue slides out to caress his (he tastes delicious, and she forgets to breathe for a moment).

The need for air becomes too pressing, too urgent soon though, and she whines softly under her breath when he breaks the kiss. Her head is still spinning and her lips are tingling deliciously where his are still brushing against hers. "Emma," he breathes—she's never heard anyone say her name like that.

Like she's the most precious thing he has ever encountered.

He sounds awed.

Her eyes flutter open slowly, lazily, and she tightens her grip on him, so he can't leave her—not just yet. She doesn't want the moment to end.

Even if this turns out to be a dream in the long run, she'll never be able to forget how _perfect_ the kiss felt. Killian slides his fingers down from where they are tangled in her curls, over her cheek, lingering on her bottom lip. "We should stop," he whispers, "Before we…"

Emma's eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, resting her forehead against his as she nods slowly.

"Yeah. I know," she breathes, finally loosening her grip on his lapels, "I know." Killian opens his mouth again, but whatever he wants to say is interrupted by a high, sharp whistle—they both groan in disappointment.

"I have to go, love," he says sadly, "If I'm not up there soon, my brother will come looking for me." She nods slowly, biting her lip to hide her disappointment. She's blatantly unwilling to let him run away from her though, so she doesn't let go of his shirt, keeping his body pressed against hers.

"Love," he whispers, "Emma… Liam will come looking for me soon." She closes her eyes again, pouting a little. "I know," she whispers, "But if I let go... What if you decide this is a mistake?"

His fingers move over her face, delicately tracing her jaw and lips. "I would never consider you a mistake, my sweet Emma." She lets a shuddering breath fall from her lips, trying to convince herself that letting him go is okay—that he'll come back.

Killian leans in to press one more, sweet kiss to her lips before he gently pries her fingers from his jacket.

"I really need to go, Emma," he says softly.

She takes a deep breath and stumbles a few steps back, sinking onto his bed. "Will you come back later?" She feels a little desperate for asking, but he just smiles and nods, running his fingers through his hair. "If you are not asleep by then," he responds, smiling lightly, "it would be my pleasure."

She nods, pleased with his answer, and kicks off her new boots, crawling back onto the bed as Killian heads for the door when the repeat of the high, long whistle announces the change of watch up on deck. "Goodnight, Killian," she whispers as he opens the door to leave. He doesn't turn around to look at her, but she knows he's smiling as he pauses by the door.

"Goodnight, Emma."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone for the amazing response and support. Short chapter, liiiiittle bit angstier than the rest, but I promise more juicy goodies in the next few chapters :) **

**Thanks to JustSmileBFF for being an awesome beta and letting me whine about Lieutenant Duckling and plots and storylines and twists all the time. I love you, girl!**

**I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

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**Across Time And Space**

**_Two weeks later_**

His eyes roll back into his head as Emma drags her fingers through his hair, tugging on it lightly, playfully, when he pulls back from her delicious, soft lips to breathe. "You will be the death of me," he chuckles, stroking his fingers over her forehead, "I do need air, lass."

"Awe," Emma pouts, her lips curling up into a devious smile that he had quickly come to love and hate with equal measure, "You sure? I'm willing to try to go without for a little longer." He groans a little when she pushes him down against the sheets again, pressing her soft lips to his. The feeling of fulfillment and contentment when he kisses her washes over him again, and he responds to her kiss with enthusiasm, tunneling his fingers in her hair to pull her closer.

Perhaps this behavior (sneaking around with Emma, keeping his affections a secret from his brother, asking others to take his watch so he can spend time with Emma) is not proper, nor very good form, but he honestly cannot bring himself to stop.

He's drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

He _cannot_ stay away from her.

They had both decided, after their third stolen kiss, that it would be more prudent to keep their affections to themselves; at least for the time being.

Though his brother is very fond of Emma, Killian is quite certain he would not approve of Killian courting her. Emma, quite surprisingly, recognized the situation as he did, and suggested he leave her in the next port (the mere suggestion had made him recoil, made his heart clench painfully, and he had dismissed that idea without a second thought) so she would not complicate his life any further than she already had.

Her words, not his.

A sharp tug on his hair draws him back to reality, where Emma is still sitting astride him on his bed in his cabin, her lips still _very _pleasantly keeping his occupied.

Gods, he _loves_ kissing her.

Perhaps Emma's right—who needs air? His hand slides into her wild, loose curls, and he pulls her closer, needing more of her—he can't get enough. Emma hums against his lips, and she pulls away slowly, their lips parting with a soft, popping sound.

She takes a deep breath and sags against his chest, snuggling deep into his embrace. These are moments he honestly craves most—not that any of his encounters with Emma are anything less than amazing—, the simplicity and the genuine peace he always feel when they lay like this something he has never before experienced.

Something he's growing to believe he will only ever be able to experience with Emma.

It had been a thought that spooked him a little, to be honest. He's known Emma for no more than a few weeks, and already, he finds that he is unwilling to imagine a day she won't be by his side anymore. They have not yet been able to procure any sort of instruction on how to create a portal to another time and realm (they have not even been able to verify whether it is possible at all), and he knows that Emma is slowly losing faith.

He refuses to give up, even though the day he will have to let her go in order to let her return to her own world is a day he dreads. He'd give her anything if it made her happy—and now, it seems she needs him to believe, to have faith that she'll find her way home.

They lay in silence for a long, comfortable moment, before their moment is broken (_again)_ by the sharp whistle. They've grown accustomed to the bloody whistle constantly interrupting their time together, but that does not mean he does not feel the urge to bloody throttle the idiot who keeps announcing his watch anymore.

Emma sighs against him, curling her fingers around his cravat. "I don't want you to go yet," she whines softly, and he chuckles lightly. "I do not wish to go yet either," he replies, running his fingers aimlessly over her back, "But I fear I must. I have been slacking in my duties—the men will begin to talk; and I would not wish Liam to hear about this from another but me."

He feels Emma nods against his chest, before she rolls of him, choosing instead to cuddle up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, her arm slung around his waist. She uses her free arm to pull his arm around her shoulders, effectively trapping him against her.

Not that he's complaining whatsoever.

"Would he really disapprove?" She asks in an a soft, insecure whisper, and for a moment, he feels his heart clench—how can she believe that Liam will disapprove of her because of _her_? "No," he states, fully convinced of that fact, "No, he would not. But I do fear he might disapprove of the situation."

"The situation really sucks," Emma grumbles, her fingers tightening on his shirt once again, "It's not fair. Why can't anything ever be easy?" He chuckles lightly, though he whole-heartedly agrees with her—their situation is anything but easy. "I do believe easy would bore us sooner or later," he whispers, "And I will talk to my brother."

"And what would you tell him?" She sits up and looks down at him with an expression he cannot discern; it's not quite fear—though it does seem to linger in her eyes too.

He's not certain what to make of it.

"The truth," he responds slowly, unsure of what to say; unsure of what she _wants_ him to say. He sits up too, reaching out to touch her cheek gingerly. "Emma, love, what would you have me tell him?" She leans away from his touch, and though he knows he has no right to be hurt or insulted, it _does_ sting a little. "I don't know," she enunciates slowly, her voice hard and cold, like he's never heard it before. "There's not much to tell, is there? We're fooling around—nothing more."

"Fooling around," he repeats slowly, trying not to show how deeply that had struck him—he's begun developing feelings for her, and though he knows it is not the most conventional situation, he honestly believes that they can make it work.

He cannot really comprehend _why_ it hurts him that she does not share this view—or that she does not share his affection—but that does not take away the fact that it _does_.

"Right," he swallows thickly, "Well, if this is no more than a foolish dalliance," he looks away from her, nursing his wounded pride and feelings, slipping from the bed quickly, "perhaps I should not speak to my brother at all. I would hate to raise his concern over _nothing."_ He nearly spits the last word, straightening his shirt and cravat angrily as he stalks towards the door, deliberately not looking at Emma.

"Killian," she chokes from behind him, and he stiffens—he had never before been aware that it could hurt to hear someone say his name, but damn him, it bloody well nearly _shatters_ him to continue walking.

"Killian, I'm sorry," she exclaims, and he doesn't even realize she's jumped off the bed to follow him until her hand falls onto his arm. "Aye," he breathes, "As am I." With that, he shrugs off her hand, no matter how it pains him to do so, and leaves the room.

.

.

.

"Do you know what you're doing, brother?" Killian jumps a little, turning to glare at his brother. "Of course I know what I am doing," he grumbles, though he supposes he should be grateful Liam pulled him from his brooding before he ran the ship against the cliffs, "You should know. You're the one that taught me."

Liam chuckles good-naturedly and claps him on the shoulder, shaking his head. "You know that is not what I meant to ask, Killian. I am fully aware you know what you're doing at the helm…" He trails off hesitantly, and Killian swallows thickly, unsure if he likes the direction this conversation is taking. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about ," he responds tightly, keeping his eyes trained on the horizon, only glancing away to check the correct heading on the compass.

"Please," Liam shakes his head, squeezing Killian's shoulder a little tighter, "You know exactly what I am talking about. The men talk—and I may be purposefully ignorant to a lot of the things happening on my ship, but I am not stupid. I am talking about your dalliance with miss Swan—do you have any bloody clue what you're getting yourself into?"

Liam's voice breaks a little nearing the end of his sentence, and Killian winces—he knows Liam is merely concerned about his wellbeing; but he _needs_ Emma.

So much that it is frightening.

"No," he sighs, rubbing his forehead warily, "I've no clue." He swallows painfully as he recalls how she dismissed their dalliance as though it meant nothing to her—even though he's certain that the things he feels are not one-sided.

They cannot possibly be one-sided.

He misses the look of concern that Liam shoots him. "Do tell me, brother," Liam starts, "How did this little romance come to be? You, of all, should realize that this is one romance one should stay well away from."

"Honestly," Killian sighs, "I thought I would be too. And according to her, there is no elicit romance. Our dalliance is _foolish_. It's over." He hardens his voice and his heart, glancing down at the compass once more, and adjusting the course a little. His brother is quiet for a long time, and Killian has a fleeting moment of hope that his brother will leave the subject—that he will not push him for more.

He does not want to think about it.

He feels foolish as it is, realizing that Emma has no true feelings of affection for him—not the way he had begun to feel for her.

"Why is that?" Liam inquires slowly, confused by his brother's sudden harsh words. "I was under the impression you were quite taken with her." Killian looks down, his fingers tightening on the wheel as he nods. "I am—but I see no use in prolonging the inevitable. Miss Swan has made it quite clear she holds little to no affection for me in return, and I do not wish to be used as a mere toy that she can toss when she gets bored."

Once again, Liam falls silent, and Killian silently thanks the Gods for the silence—silence in which he can bask in the sounds of the sea and the soft creaking of the Jewel; yes, those are the only two women he needs in his life.

He swallows thickly and nods.

He just needs to remember that.

Liam's sudden chuckle of amusement startles him, and he turns to glare at his older brother with a frown. Liam merely shakes his head, still smiling, and claps his hand on Killian's shoulder again. "Sometimes," Liam smiles, "I forget how young you are, brother. Did it ever occur to you that Emma might be too frightened to grow attached to you—to us, to this land?"

"W—what?" Killian stutters, frowning confusedly, "That doesn't make sense, Liam—why would she be afraid?"

Liam smiles sadly and raises his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "Because she can't stay. She will have to go back to her own land eventually… Perhaps she fears loving things here too much—fears losing _something_ she loves when she returns."

He hadn't thought of it like that.

Killian suddenly feels like the most bone-headed idiot in the entire realm, shaking his head furiously. "But she—" he begins, desperately trying to refute Liam's words, however much sense they make—so he's afraid of the tidal wave of feelings Emma invokes within him; who wouldn't be?

He barely knows her.

He knows, rationally, that affection and love take time to grow; it is only natural that it takes time—but with Emma… With Emma, he has never required time—his feelings for her just … are.

From the very instant he'd spotted her, adrift in the ocean, there had been something drawing him to her, urging him to dive in the water to get her out himself rather than use the ropes and the hook, like they did otherwise when there was a man—or woman, in this case—overboard.

He'd never been in control when it came to her (and it _is_ frightening, if he is completely honest).

So why would it be so hard to believe that she might feel the same way?

"Fine," he snaps petulantly, "Perhaps she _is_ afraid—but I do not wish to be tangled up in something without a future." And as he says the words, he realizes how true they are.  
He's terrified of falling for Emma—though honestly, he's been falling since the second he laid eyes upon her—and of being forced to choose in the end.

If he and Emma were ever to truly fall in love, and she would return to her own land… He would not be able to let her walk out of his life.

And he wouldn't want to.

He knows that.

And that would mean he would have to choose; choose between a life he could have with Emma and the life he _does_ have with his brother.

He's not sure he could ever make that choice—so perhaps it is more prudent to just walk away now, before anyone would get too involved.

Liam sighs and drops his hands from Killian's shoulder. "Don't be a fool, Killian," he says softly, "sometimes it's alright to take a chance on something… _Someone_. Take that leap of faith." Killian spins around, unsure if he's heard Liam right—for a moment there, he could've sworn Liam was telling him to pursue Emma instead of letting her go.

"I would've thought you were against me taking that leap of faith," he mutters in surprise, blinking confusedly.

Liam smiles kindly, pushing Killian aside to take the wheel. "I want you to be happy, Killian. And…" he hesitates, shaking his head, "I don't think I've ever seen you happier—she makes you _live_, Killian. After just two weeks. I may be a skeptic bastard at times, but even I know love when I see it, brother. Even when the two of you don't."

Killian gapes at him, completely at a loss of words—love? _Love_?

No, no, no. It's far too soon for him to be in love with Emma.

His cheeks are burning, and he's still opening and closing his mouth, like a fish out of the water, trying desperately to find the words to deny the label his brother just put on the feelings he's harboring for Emma—feelings he's been trying to convince himself to forget about.

"Go talk to her," Liam orders, smiling indulgently at his younger brother, "Figure this out, Killian. Don't run away from it." He shoos Killian away from the helm, nearly chasing him down the stairs, back to Killian's quarters.

Breathing in deeply, attempting to sort out his tangled, muddled, confused thoughts, Killian leans his head against the wooden door, his fingers curled around the cold, brass doorknob.

_You need this_, he tells himself, _You both need to know. Man up, Jones, and bloody hell, ask the lass what she's feeling. _

Finally (he has no clue how long he's been standing at the door, unmoving, frozen, drowning in his thoughts), he gathers all of his courage and nods.

Slowly, he pushes the door open, steeling himself for whatever fate lays awaiting him inside (and he really doesn't have a clue that what awaits him inside _is_ fate).

"Emma?"


	4. Chapter 4

**You guys are AMAZING! I love how enthusiastic you guys are for this little story; it really makes me more motivated to write this for you guys! Oh, I'm wondering if any of you have ideas where I'm taking this story (it's all planned, has been since the first chapter), and I'm curious to hear what you think.**

**I'm also a little startled by how much all of you seemed to dread this chapter :p I'm telling you now, I don't have any real, serious, heartbreaking angst planned for this story, though I do have to admit that sometimes, the story has a life of its own. **

**I can't make any promises, but I do know that right now, no major angst is coming.**

**There's a timejump at the end of this chapter-I did indicate it, but I figured I'd say it here, just to be sure too :)**

**Thanks to JustSmileBFF for being an awesome beta-wouldn't be able to do it without you! I love you, girl!**

**Now, I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p)**

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**Across Time And Space**

She hears the door open, but doesn't look up, and doesn't stop what she's doing. She's right to be doing this; it is for the best. "Emma?" She winces as he repeats her name, but steels her resolve and does not look up to meet his eyes. She's well aware that if she looks into his eyes, she will crumble, and she _can't_.

"Emma, what are you doing?" She swallows thickly and shoves the last piece of clothing into the duffel bag she had found in the back of one of the cupboards. "I'm packing," she responds evenly, though on the inside, she's crying and cursing her insecurities.

"I can see that," Killian says tersely, and she can almost imagine him stiffening, glaring daggers at her back. "But _why_?"

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself, before turning around to face him. "Because," she explains slowly, trying to avoid looking at his eyes, "I don't think me staying here is a good idea. I know we make port in two days, and though I'm very grateful for everything you and Liam have done for me, I think it'd be best if I disembark there and try to find my home on my own."

He falls silent completely, and she can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows (and it really shouldn't make her want to jump in his arms and beg him to never let her go), his entire body freezing as he processes her words.

"You—you wish to leave?" His voice is deep and hoarse, his accent thicker than usual, and it makes her shiver, even though it really shouldn't.

"Yes," she breathes, nodding, still refusing to look him in the eye, "Yes, I do. I want to go." She hates doing this, and she hates saying it even more, because it's just _not_ true (but she _has_ to, this can only end in heartbreak, and she _can't_ risk getting her heart broken), and she knows _exactly_ what she has to say to make him walk away and accept this.

"I don't wish for you to take care of me anymore," she chokes, her voice thick, on the verge of tears, her eyes fixed on the top button of his vest, "I'll be fine on my own, and we can both get back to our own lives."

There's a long, tense silence, and for a moment, Emma fears he's going to fight her, force her to look him in the eye and repeat it, knowing she won't be able to do it, but then he spits, "Of course. I will make sure arrangements are made for your departure, miss Swan." And before she can say anything else, he spins around, stomping out of the cabin, slamming the door shut in his wake—and all she can do is flinch at the harsh sound.

_It really is for the best_, she nods to herself, _he's better off without me._

If only she could make herself believe those words.

.

.

.

She's not sure how much time has passed, but the sky is darkening, and Killian hasn't come back (not that she expected him to), nor has Liam or anyone else. She's guessing that Killian told everyone to leave her alone for a bit—she's grateful for that. She doesn't need to see anyone who will make her change her mind.

She feels horrible enough as it is; she's been crying for hours after Killian left her alone. She still isn't sure if it was because he left without a fight or because she hates having to tell herself it's for the best over and over again—there's this little voice nagging her, telling her that if it really were for the best, it wouldn't hurt so much.

A glance at the duffel bag that she shoved in the corner when Killian left makes her heart clench painfully, and she swallows thickly, snuggling deeper into the pillows on the bed (they still smell like him, and it's oddly comforting), pulling the sheet over her head too.

She's feeling like crap, and she just wants to hide away in here until it's time to leave.

It's the easiest thing to do.

She's plucking at the tiny little threads on the sheets when the door suddenly bursts open, and someone stumbles inside clumsily and quite loudly. "Bloody hell," the intruder curses under his breath, slightly slurring his words—Emma's heart stutters a little as she recognizes Killian, and she shoots up, out of the bed to help him back to his feet without even thinking about it.

"No, no, no," Killian rambles drunkenly, pushing her away clumsily, stumbling back to lean against the wall, "Don't do that," he spits, "You can't …" Emma's not sure what to make of it; she's never _ever_ seen Killian drunk before, and according to Liam, he's never actually _been_ drunk before either.

"Killian, what are you doing?" She whispers, her lower lip trembling a little (Dear God, please don't let him be drunk because of her), taking a slow step back, giving him the space he so clearly wants from her.

"I don't know!" He moans, running his fingers through his hair, "I have no idea what I'm doing—not since I met you!" He looks up at her, his beautiful blue eyes bloodshot and wet with tears, "And Liam's right, and I hate it so much, because I can't do anything about it because _you_, you won't let me take care of you anymore!" She barely gets the chance to process his rambling before he stumbles forward, colliding with her, his hands suddenly hot on her cheeks, the heavy, spicy scent of rum invading her nostrils.

"Why won't you just let me love you?" he breathes against her lips—her heart stutters, and she chokes.

Love?

No, no. He couldn't have—no.

"Killian," she pleads, her fingers wrapping around both his wrists, "Please, don't…" He can't say things like that—things that make her heart skip a beat and butterflies flutter in her stomach and that make her want to stay and trust him and _love_ him—he's making her resolve crumble.

"I love you so damn much," he chokes, his lips now so close to hers that she can feel their lips brush every time he speaks. "And I hate that you don't feel it too—I can't believe you don't feel it too—there's no way that all this is one-sided. Please, Emma," a tear rolls down his cheek, and her heart damn well nearly shatters at how _desperate_ and pained he sounds. "Please don't leave me. Not you—please."

Emma chokes a little, but nods slowly and pulls Killian towards the bed, "Okay, Killian, come on, sit down." He lets her push him down meekly, only protesting when she pulls away from him, at which point he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face against her stomach (it just makes her giggle; his scruff tickles the skin that had been exposed when her shirt rode up).

She winces when he, once again, whispers that he loves her, and that he wants to take care of her, and says nothing in return; she doesn't know what to say. Instead, she runs her fingers through his unruly hair, knowing that it always soothes him—and she needs him to be calm, so he can just lay down and sleep it off.

"You need to lay down," she says softly, goose bumps springing up on her arms when he just mumbles sleepily in response and tightens his arms around her waist. "No," he moans, "I don't want to let you go. You'll go away."

She closes her eyes for a moment, a tear rolling down her cheek, and then bends down to press her lips to the top of his head. "Lay down, Killian," she orders gently, pushing him down onto the mattress, pulling off his boots and his jacket before pulling the sheets from underneath him and covering him with them.

"Don't leave," he whispers, tugging on her hand, "Stay with me."

She hesitates for a long moment, before sighing in defeat and smiling sadly as she crawls into the bed with him, allowing him to pull her into his arms. She giggles a little when he grumbles, pulling her against him tightly as he buries his nose in her hair.

"I love you, Emma," he breathes against her, his entire body relaxing as he falls asleep.

She lays in his arms, thinking, worrying, brooding for a long time after he falls asleep, her fingers sliding over his hand slowly, reverently, as she considers all the reasons why she had decided to leave earlier today.

But no matter how many times she goes over them, they all pale in comparison to the one reason that makes her want to stay.

She tightens her fingers around his, pressing their joint hands onto her stomach as she snuggles deeper into Killian's embrace, her eyes drifting shut slowly—her mind is still spinning; but she's accepted one, fundamental thing that she just can't change.

She loves him too.

.

.

.

The sharp whistle sounds clear and loud on the cold, dark deck, and Liam frowns a little when, like the first three times he'd made Stiles whistle, there's no response from his Lieutenant whatsoever.

It's not like Killian to not respond to the change of watch—even when he had been preoccupied with everything involving miss Swan, he had always come running, or at least arranged for someone else to take his watch.

Liam sighs and shakes his head—he knows Killian went to talk to miss Swan about their… romantic relationship, but that was hours ago; no one has seen either lovebird since. While he does know what every other man on this ship is thinking (and it is quite obvious; they're all positively _leering_, smirking at the thought of their Lieutenant being anything but the prim and proper bastard he'd always been), he also realizes that it is most unlikely.

He sincerely doubts whether miss Swan would simply allow his brother into her bed this easily.

He is no fool—it is a likely possibility—but he does not believe it to be true.

"Jukes!" He bellows, gesturing for Stiles to take the wheel, "Where's Lieutenant Jones?" The man fidgets nervously—which Liam takes as his first clue that something is not quite right—and looks down at his shoes rather than face him. "I don't know, Cap'n," Jukes says slowly—and not convincing enough to fool Liam.

"Jukes," he threatens, staring the man down, "Where is the Lieutenant?"

"I'm not telling you no lies, Cap'n," the man stutters, "I've no clue where the Lieutenant be now." Liam pushes down his impatience and breathes in deeply, glaring at the midshipman icily. "Then where was he earlier?" The man's fidgeting intensifies, before one of the men standing behind him—Carrows, Liam realizes—exclaims, "He took all our rum, Cap'n. He didn't toss 'em this time; he drank 'em all and then went back to see the lady, Cap'n. We haven't seen him since."

Liam's stomach churns uncomfortably, and he glares at his men for a long, tense moment, before he decides he can deal with them later—his little brother is his first priority right now. Angrily, frustrated, he stomps down the stairs and towards Killian's cabin, where he's certain he'll find both his brother and miss Swan, not bothering to be quiet or subtle.

He's not sure what his brother had been thinking—Killian excels at being a Lieutenant, at living up to the expectations—but if he really _did _drink himself into a stupor in front of the crew, Killian will have to face the consequences.

Open drunkenness is not tolerated in His Majesty's Royal Navy.

He pushes open the door to Killian's cabin, striding in, ready to chastise his brother before Killian can get a word in edgewise, but the sight that greets him stops him dead in his tracks; and suddenly, he doesn't remember why he had been so upset with his _young_, young brother.

Killian lays on his back in his bed, snoring softly, while Emma is peacefully sleeping next (and half on top of) to him, the sheet tangled around them both, Emma's head resting on Killian's chest and both of Killian's arms wrapped around her.

He stares for a moment longer, almost mesmerized by the blissful smile on his brother's face, before he smiles and leaves the cabin quietly.

He'll lecture him tomorrow.

.

.

.

Emma wakes up to Killian stroking his fingers over her forehead, her nose, her eyes, her lips—every part of her that he can reach. She hums softly, leaning into his caresses almost without thinking about it, pushing her lower lip out into a pout when his fingers still.

Her eyelashes flutter against his palm when she opens her eyes, and she can feel him shiver from where they're still snuggled against each other.

She has to admit… Waking up next to him…

Not the worst feeling in the world.

"Hi," she whispers hoarsely when he stays silent, his eyes dark and unreadable—she doesn't know what to make of him right now, and it scares her.

Does he remember the things he told her before he passed out?

"Are you—" she chokes slightly, "Are you feeling okay?" There's not a trace of a hangover about him (which does make her wonder if he really was _that_ drunk), no trace of liquor at all; the only reminder is the harsh smell of rum that still hangs in his clothes.

He's silent for a moment longer, before he sighs and drops his hands to her waist, seemingly subconsciously caressing the sheet-covered skin. "I'm quite alright," he responds finally, his accent still thicker than usual, his voice gruff with sleep. Emma shivers a little when his fingers sweep over a patch of bare skin, her own fingers seeking out his shirt almost automatically.

"About," she starts slowly, biting her lip nervously, "about last night—" Before she can finish her sentence (and she isn't sure what the end of that sentence would have been), Killian interrupts, laying his hand atop hers, closing his fingers around hers gently. "I meant it," he whispers, his eyes locked on hers—and she just _can't_ look away from him. "I meant everything that I said," he continues, "I do love you—and I am well aware of the insanity of the whole situation, but Emma…" he smiles weakly and reaches down to stroke her cheek, "I wouldn't wish it any different. I don't want you to leave—and I most certainly do not want to let you go."

"Even though I messed up your perfect life?" She whispers uncertainly, unable to truly grasp what he's telling her. Killian's eyes darken slightly, and he shakes his head, leaning in to press a feather light kiss to her lips—it's over before she realizes, before she gets the chance to really kiss him back. "You are what makes my life perfect," he vows, smiling at her (and damn her, but her heart skips another beat, and all she wants now is to wrap herself around him and never let him go again).

"What happens when I go home?" She chokes, blinking furiously to keep her treacherous tears at bay; she has to be happy now; he's not lying, he does love her (or at least, he's convinced that he does); she shouldn't be crying her eyes out. Killian shrugs a little, pulling her a little closer, smiling brightly at her. "We'll deal with it," he replies, moving his fingers into her hair, "We'll deal with anything—I just need you."

"I'm scared," she finally admits, wiggling closer to him so she can hide her face against his chest. Call her crazy, but she's still terrified of him growing tired of her, or of him deciding she's not worth the trouble after all. "As am I, darling," he whispers, his lips brushing over her hair, "but I'm willing to take that leap of faith. Are you?"

It hits her then, that he's absolutely serious—he _wants _to take that leap of faith for her. It's all up to her now, and that scares the crap out of her. Her heart clenches as she stares at him, trying desperately to convince herself that it's not a bad thing to tell him she loves him too.

After all, he's already laid his own heart bare before her.

He wouldn't crush hers if she shows him—she knows he wouldn't.

She's admitted it to herself, she can say it again; her throat seems constricted, and she's not sure she remembers how to talk.

"I—" she chokes, "I—"

Killian swallows thickly, but smiles sadly, understandingly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I know, love, I know," he whispers against her skin. "Try something new, darling. It's called trust."

Emma lets a shuddering breath fall from her lips, shaking a little as she swallows thickly a few times, trying to convince herself that she is okay—she's fine.

Killian's one of the good ones.

She knows this.

"Sorry," she mutters, casting her gaze down to the (this time unbuttoned) top button of his vest.

She breathes in deeply, trying to find the courage to tell him that she _does_ want to trust him, that she _does _want to be with him, but she feels like she's only able to reach it with the tips of her fingers—she's absolutely terrified of confirming her feelings for him. "Promise you won't hurt me," she breathes, realizing she _needs_ that answer; she _needs_ to know that he's not just playing with her.

Killian shakes his head at her, leaning in slowly to caress her lips with his. She kisses him back slowly, almost automatically, her heart skipping a few beats. Reluctantly, he leans away again and smiles at her, whispering, "I promise, my love."

"Okay," she breathes shakily, "Okay." Slowly, she leans in again, pressing her lips to his again—she's craving how safe she feels when he's touching her, even though that fact on itself scares her. He kisses her back—oh, he _really_ kisses her back—but he breaks the kiss far too soon for her taste, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I will not let you go, Emma," he whispers, "I love you, lass, and I will always fight for you." She bites her lip, sliding her leg up, over his, to pull him closer, and smiles lightly. "Good," she breathes, "because I love you too."

The breath she takes next is the last one she takes for a while as he pounces on her (and God, she _loves_ every second of it).

.

.

.

**Two months later**

She's standing at the helm, gazing at the setting sun with awe—she's watched the sunset (and sunrise) many times with Killian since she's been here, but its beauty takes her by surprise every single time.

She also wishes to enjoy every minute she has left on the ship; they are on their way back to the capitol, where Killian and Liam will receive their permission for their annual three-month leave, before they have to take another assignment from the King.

Both Killian and Liam have already stated that she won't be allowed to accompany them on another one of their assignments though, and she absolutely hates it.

Killian has offered to let her stay with Liam wife and daughter (she'd had no idea he was married), until he returned, and for now, she has accepted; but she still feels weird about staying with a stranger for months until her … Well, she's not sure _what_ he is, returns.

"Hello love," Killian's voice draws her from her thoughts, his arms sliding around her waist, pulling her back to rest against his chest. "Enjoying the sight?" She hums in agreement, her entire body involuntarily relaxing in his arms, "I just still can't believe how beautiful it is." He chuckles, the vibration against her back making her skin tingle, and responds, "Aye, it is quite the sight."

She doesn't even have to look at him to know he's not looking at the setting sun. She slaps his arm half-heartedly and grumbles, "I was talking about the sun, Killian!"

"And I was speaking of the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon," he responds smoothly, pecking her cheek quickly, "And how I still marvel that she allows me to call her mine." Emma closes her eyes for a moment and rests her head against his chest, soothed by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Moments like these have been numerous in the past few months, and she still cannot bring herself to regret the decision to let Killian in; it's the best thing she has ever done.

"I love you," she whispers, resting her hands on top of his, the pair of them swaying lightly with the waves that roll against the ship. Killian rests his cheek against her forehead and smiles lightly, tightening his embrace on her slightly. "I love you."

They fall silent for a long, comfortable moment, before Killian suddenly turns her in his arms, cupping her face in his hands. "Emma, love," he starts, his voice shaking lightly, "Do you truly love me?"

Emma frowns in confusion, but nods and smiles at him. "Of course I do, Killian, you know that." He swallows thickly, and Emma wonders confusedly what's wrong with him. "What would you say if I told you I wished for you to be by my side for the rest of our lives?"

She smiles brightly, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his wrist. "I would say that sounds perfect." He nods jerkily, his fingers tightening a little around her face as he breathes out, his entire body shaking with what she finally recognizes as nerves. "Killian, what's going on?" She questions slowly, frowning a little.

"Emma," he whispers, "I love you. And… I meant it—I do wish for us to spend the rest of our lives together." She blanches a little when she realizes where he's going, and her heart stops when he finally lets the words fall from his lips.

"Will you do me the honor of being my wife, Emma, my love?"

Well, shit.


	5. Chapter 5

**You're all the BEST! I loved all of your response for the last chapter, and it was very interesting to read what you all were expecting for the rest of the story :D None of you were completely there though, which I love :p Hope I'll be able to surprise at least a few of you :p **

**Okay, so more A/N and rambling at the bottom of the chapter-a few questions for the next couple of chapters :) ****Thanks to JustSmileBFF for being an awesome beta-wouldn't be able to do it without you! I love you, girl!**

**Now, I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p)**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Across Time And Space**

Emma snuggles deeper into the sheets—the bed is warm and comfortable, and though she can hear that most of the crew (including Liam, if the shouting overhead is any indication) is already up and about, she really does not feel like getting up.

She sighs a little, rolling over, to look at the man she loves.

The man that asked her to marry him no more than a couple of hours ago.

She swallows, raising her hand to touch his face delicately—but she's instantly distracted by the soft glittering of the silver ring on her finger. Her heart jumps a little in her chest and an involuntary smile spreads across her lips at the memory of the previous night.

.

.

.

_"Oh," she chokes, staring Killian's expectant face, "Ye—I—I mean—No," she stutters, wincing when Killian's smile falls immediately. "No?" He echoes, taking a small step away from her, but she tightens her grip on his hands, not letting him move away any further. "No, I mean, yes," she stammers, "I—you're proposing?" _

_Killian smiles weakly and nods, squeezing her hands, "I am. I thought… Perhaps—you—I…" he hesitates and shrugs a little, "I love you." A blush creeps up his cheeks and she bites her lip with how adorable he looks—it reminds her of all the reasons she loves him, the reasons she's decided to put her search for a way back to her own world on hold indefinitely. _

_"And I love you," she says softly, tugging him closer, "Ask me again." His eyes widen, and she can see his confusion—it makes her smile. "Ask me again, Killian," she repeats, smiling softly. _

_"Be my wife?" He whispers, so softly she almost doesn't hear him. Her heart skips several beats, and her breathing constricts for a moment as she stares into his oh-so-blue eyes, contemplating her answer and its consequences for a long moment before she smiles and squeezes his hands tightly. _

_"Yes," she whispers, tears of happiness welling up in her eyes, "I'll be your wife."_

.

.

.

She smiles again, gently touching the silver ring he had given her as an engagement ring—Liam had told them both it had been his and Killian's mother's, once upon a time, and he had taken it with him when he left home, so his father couldn't sell it to pay off his gambling debts.

The ring is beautiful; a simple silver band set with one clear-cut, modest diamond; and she loves it already. She jumps when Killian's hand suddenly moves, catching hers and pulling it down to his lips. He presses a soft, gentle kiss to her palm before leaning in and pressing one kiss on each cheek before finally moving to kiss her lips.

"Good morning, my love," he says softly, his hand sliding down her spine, finally settling on the small of her back. She can feel that ridiculously happy smile tugging on her lips again (honestly, she is such a _girl_ when she's with him) and sighs contently. "Morning handsome," she responds with a teasing wink, sliding her fingers through his hair, "I think they're waiting for you on deck."

He hums contently, leaning into her touch (she suppresses the urge to giggle; her Lieutenant—_fiancé_, she reminds herself, _fiancé_—is adorable like this). "I suppose they are," he mumbles with a slight pout, "I should not keep them waiting. Liam gave me hell last time I missed a watch."

She giggles and nods, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips again. "You were drunk that time," she reminds him, "I think he was more upset about that than about you missing your watch." Killian chuckles throatily, nuzzling his nose against her neck, "Hmmm," he breathes, "I'm drunk on you now, my love."

She giggles as his scruff scratches at the sensitive skin of her throat, and tangles her fingers in his hair, tugging on it a little, "Yes," she moans when he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck, "But I don't think Liam will buy that as a viable excuse."

Killian pouts against her and mumbles, "He bloody well should. We are engaged now, after all."

"Yes, we are," she smiles, hugging him close. Killian smiles happily and presses his lips firmly to her temple, wrapping her in his arms.

Emma lets a content sigh fall from her lips—she's just _so_ happy; she doesn't even care that she's stuck in a dream or another time and realm (or whatever Killian had called it); for the first time in her life, she's genuinely happy.

"You do realize Liam will come get you if you take too long," she breathes, nuzzling further into his warm embrace, "_again_. He'll drag you out of bed." Killian growls in protest, tightening his arms around her—he has no desire of going out to face every smug crewmember out there.

He's staying right there.

"No," he whines, "I don't want to." She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to hide the amused smile that's pulling at the corner of her lips. He smirks wickedly at her and pushes her onto her back, wedging his body between her thighs.

Her breath hitches as his hips press onto hers—as many times they have shared his bed, they have not actually gone any further than passionate kisses and heated touches—and she whispers, "What are you doing?"

"Celebrating our engagement," he grins, nipping on her earlobe, relishing in the soft gasp that falls from her lips. The last thought that crosses Emma's mind as Killian captures her lips with his is that maybe he's right—celebrating their engagement is a far better use of their time than letting him take watch.

Far, far better.

.

.

.

Liam chuckles when his brother finally appears on deck, well over an hour late for his watch, his hair sticking up every which way and his waistcoat buttoned hastily (and not very well). He's more than a little amused to see Killian so flustered; evidently, so are most of the men. "Good morning brother," Liam smirks, raising an amused eyebrow when Killian stumbles up to the helm, re-doing the buttons of his waistcoat, "How generous of you to finally grace us with your presence."

He grins at his brother's red cheeks, clapping his hand on Killian's shoulder. "Now, do you think you can pull your thoughts from your wife-to-be for long enough to steer us into the harbor?"

He merely smiles at the glare Killian sends him, shouting out several orders for the men lingering on deck. He understands Killian's reluctance to pull himself away from Emma for even a moment—he himself had been that way when he and Prue had been newlywed; even now, after many years together, he still adores her as much as he did the day they met.

"Do you miss them?" Killian's voice pulls him from his thoughts, "Prudence and Rose?" A wistful smile tugs on Liam's lips, and, as he watches Killian maneuver the ship into the harbor expertly, hope that both of his girls will be waiting on the docks for him rising once again—he had sent word to the King only yesterday that they were no more than a day away; it is entirely possible (and very likely) that his wife had somehow gotten word of their arrival and would be waiting with their little girl.

"Aye, I do," he says softly, "Leaving them breaks my heart every time; but I love the sea as much as I love them… I would not be able to sit still on land for more than those three months we are allotted."

He barely notices the frown upon his brother's face at that, and only looks back at him when he grumbles, "I cannot imagine leaving her. Not seeing her every day." Liam laughs, shaking his head at Killian's sullen tone.

"Oh, just you wait, dear brother. One day, you will be begging for assignments just to get away from your lovely miss Swan—it is a day every married man faces." He chuckles at the look of disbelief on Killian's face and shakes his head again.

To be young and so deeply in love…

He knows Killian is not the most experienced man when it comes to women and matters of the heart, but sometimes, Liam catches himself forgetting that he _is_ ten years Killian's senior, and that he has seen far more of the world that his little brother. "You should not worry about such matters yet, brother," he finally says, moving to stand next to Killian as he watches his brother and his men work completely in sync to dock the Jewel, "You are soon to be wed; you only proposed yesterday. Enjoy this blissfulness while it lasts."

He frowns lightly when Killian doesn't bother responding, but then notices the reason for his brother's inattention; Emma has just appeared on deck, dressed in a simple green-and-grey dress that Liam has never seen her wear before (then again, he supposes practicality does demand breeches and tunics rather than dresses to be worn aboard the ship).

He cannot blame Killian for losing his attention; she does look _stunning_, despite the dress's simplicity, and perhaps even because of it. Her long, blonde curls hang loosely down her back, and for the first time, Liam can truly see the woman that has his little brother all tied up in knots. He is no fool, nor is he blind; Emma is a beautiful girl; but he had never before truly grasped _why_ Killian had fallen head over heels in love with her.

He can see it now though; he can see the beauty that captured his brother's heart.

"Alright," he exclaims, pulling Killian from the wheel playfully, "Go hug your pretty fiancé, I'll finish docking." He chuckles when Killian splutters in protest for a few moments before grumbling and practically running down to wrap his arms around Emma.

Liam grins, noting that most of the men seem amused with Killian's behavior too, before they all return to their tasks. He turns his gaze back to the horizon, smiling to himself when he sees two figures stand out in the crowd on the docks.

He's home.

.

.

.

"Papa!"

The high-pitched cry echoes over the noise on the docks, and Emma watches with a small smile as a little girl—no older than five or six—bounces up the gangway, running past the laughing and smiling crewmembers and leaping in Liam's waiting arms.

She stares, a little awed to see Liam—tough, no-nonsense Naval Captain—slip into the role of loving father effortlessly; but it suits him. She turns to Killian, her heart stuttering when she catches herself wondering if he'll be a good father too.

_Oh no_, she shakes her head, _far too soon to think about that._

Instead, she smiles at her fiancé (God, she really loves calling him that) and says, "So, that's Rose, right?" Killian nods slowly, his smile softening as he looks at his brother and his niece. "Aye," he replies, curling his arm around her waist, "She looks more and more like her mother every time I see her. She's so big already." There's a feint trace of nostalgia in his tone, and Emma can't help but smile—it's adorable.

She turns to him, stroking his cheek softly, biting her lip. "What?" he asks softly, his blue eyes sparkling with something she's not sure how to identify. She smiles, shaking her head slowly, "Nothing," she whispers, "I love you."

His smile is beautiful and sweet and breathtaking and her heart skips a beat when he leans in to brush his lips on her forehead. "And I you, darling," he whispers, "And have I mentioned how _ravishing_ you look?" She giggles (internally rolling her eyes at her own behavior) and nods, pressing a kiss to his scruffy jaw. "You did," she smiles, "several times."

He chuckles and continues holding her close for another long, sweet moment, before they're interrupted by a beautiful woman with long, curly red hair, who smiles kindly at the pair of them, before moving to hug Killian. Emma winces when she's hit with a very irrational pang of jealousy (she's not stupid; she knows this is Liam's wife), but she hates watching any other woman touch _her_ Lieutenant.

Especially gorgeous, tall, perfect women, even if they are married to his brother.

"Prue," Killian smiles broadly when the woman has _finally_ let go of him, "This is Emma," he pulls her closer by her hand, "my fiancé." Emma squeezes his hand tightly (and ignores how he shoots a confused look her way) and smiles at Liam's wife—Prue, was it?—holding out her hand to shake Prue's.

"Hi," she smiles broadly, "nice to meet you. Liam and Killian told me so much about you." Prue smiles back and shakes her hand, nodding, "I'm so glad Killian found someone; though I'm sure Rose will be devastated—she wanted to marry him when she turned sixteen," she adds, winking at Emma. Killian chuckles and glances towards where Liam and Rose are standing, "I'm sure she'll live."

Prue merely smiles at them before excusing herself and hurrying towards her husband and her daughter. Emma watches her go, releasing a heavy sigh when Prue reaches Liam—she's not sure why she's suddenly so … Possessive of Killian, but she just…

She hates knowing that she's not the only one realizing just how handsome her Lieutenant is.

She's just glad he didn't notice.

"What was that, love?"

She winces. Okay—maybe she isn't as subtle as she thinks she is.

Determined not to admit how stupid she's being, she bites her lip and looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. "What do you mean?" she smiles innocently, lacing her fingers with his, and turning to face him.

He smirks a little, brushing his fingers over her forehead gently, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "That," he chuckles, tapping her nose playfully, "That look right there. Was there something Prue said that offended you, darling?" His playful smile transforms into a frown, and she winces slightly, shaking her head.

"No," she hastens, "No, no, no. I just…" She sighs and slides her arms around his waist tentatively, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm being silly. It's just so overwhelming—you and me, and then all this… It's just a lot sometimes. I mean—it was okay when we were just on the ship, but now… Here…" She closes her eyes and melts into Killian's embrace. "It's not just us anymore," she breathes, "and _maybe_ I get a little _possessive_. I don't like sharing."

She pouts a little when she feels his chest rumble with laughter—she didn't mean for him to laugh at her.

Bad, bad Lieutenant.

"There's nothing to share, love," he chuckles, lifting her chin so he can look her in the eye, "I'm all yours. I always have been." Her heart melts a little at the sincere look on his face, and damn her, but she can't stop the ridiculously girlish giggle that falls from her lips as he leans in to press a kiss to her lips.

When he breaks the kiss, her gaze drifts back to where Liam and his family are standing, and slowly, an idea forms. "Hey, Killian?" She asks slowly, not taking her eyes off his brother, "In my world, when you want to be married, you can either do so in a church, or you can be married by another that has been ordained…"

"Alright," Killian drawls hesitantly. She grins and turns back to him, curling her fingers in his jacket. "In my world, a captain is allowed to solemnize the marriage." Understanding dawns in his eyes, and the smile that spreads across his lips is bright and beautiful and makes her want to do a lot of _very_ improper things to him, considering they are in public, and his brother, sister-in-law and niece are standing three feet from them.

"Aye," he replies, "That is a custom our worlds share."

She bites her lip and nods excitedly, "So… Are we agreeing on this?" Killian smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead, but nods. "We'll have to ask him first, love."

"He'll say yes," she tightens her grip on Killian's vest, "He has to. He'll love it."

Killian gently untangles himself from her embrace (and she doesn't pout. At all. Well…Maybe just a little bit), taking her hand in his, leading her to where his brother and his family are talking, "Then we should ask him, should we not?"

Emma smiles brightly and nods, squeezing his hand. "Yes, yes, we should."

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**A/N 2: Okay, I do apologize for the shorter chapter, but I wanted to give the wedding its own chapter :) Now, I had planned to write the wedding night too, in full, so the story rating would change to M. I'm just wondering whether or not you guys are good with some smutty Lieutenant Duckling goodness. Do let me know if you prefer no smut. Or if you do :D**

**Okay... Not so much rambling anyway :D Let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh My God! THAT WINTER FINALE! Was I the only one squealing and laughing and crying at the same time? I cannot survive 82 days without CS :s **

**My Lieutenant Duckling just became a refuge as much as a therapy. Now, my exams are starting soon, so updates will be slower for a while, cause I've got a crazy lot of stufying to do, and I apologize for the wait in advance. **

**Now, onto the story-OMG, you guys! You are all the best! Over 200 follow and a crazy amount of reviews and faves? Thank you so much. I am so glad you enjoy this story so much. Now, I know I promised smut, but when I tried to write it, it just didn't feel right yet, so, even though this chapter is still rated a tentative M, it is not actual, real smut. **

**This isn't beta'd, and I hope there aren't too many mistakes left, and I hope you all won't kill me... There's bumpy seas ahead...**

**It's one AM, and I got class and work tomorrow, so I'm just gonna drop this here and go to bed. **

**Night y'all, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p)**

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**Across Time And Space**

On the day of her wedding, Emma wakes up alone (most definitely _not_ by her own choice; Liam and Prue had insisted she and Killian spent the night apart—something about propriety and good form), blinking at the ceiling sleepily. She can hear the commotion and flurry of activity in the house already, despite the early hour. When Killian had proposed to her, she had not realized how big of a deal the Navy would make out of this—but apparently, she's getting married to one of their most promising young officers and a personal favorite of the King.

Though Killian has been able to convince everyone that they wanted to keep it small and modest, they still have a guest list of over 200 people—and she doesn't even know most of them. She's only met a few of Killian's fellow officers and friends, and other than that, she has only spent time with Prue and Rose.

She's inherently relieved that Liam will be the one marrying them—she really was not that big on an anonymous city official or a priest.

She kicks the sheets to the end of the bed and sighs shakily. "I'm getting married today," she whispers, pressing her left hand to her chest, "Holy shit. I'm actually getting married today." She continues staring at the ceiling for a little while longer, trying to actually process that she is going to commit her entire life and love to someone she met a mere four months ago.

It's a terrifying thought.

Not that her feelings for Killian have diminished—if anything, her feelings for him have grown more intense and deeper—, it's just a very scary thought. Not so long ago, she'd believed she'd never love anyone and never let anyone in ever again.

Now, she's in a different realm and time, about to get married to a young Naval Lieutenant and committing to a life she'd never even dared to imagine. She cannot wait though, despite the fear that keeps nagging at her in the back of her mind. She _wants_ to be married to Killian.

She wants to be his.

She's ready to be Mrs. Emma Jones.

"Auntie Emma!" The door to her bedchambers bursts open and suddenly she finds herself with a lapful of hyperactive, giggly six-year-old. She hugs Rose back, giggling along with the little girl—she loves spending time with Rose; the girl is absolutely adorable. "Are you nervous?" Rose asks, tugging on one of Emma's curls, looking up at her with her with the same big blue eyes that make her weak in the knees when Killian uses them on her.

"A little bit," Emma smiles, pressing a kiss to Rose's forehead, "But I love your Uncle Killy—so it'll all be fine."

"Ah," Prue smiles when she appears in the doorway, "I hope she did not wake you—I couldn't stop her." Emma smiles gently at Prue (she's still a little uncomfortable when she sees Prue talk to Killian, even though she knows the woman is completely devoted to Liam) and shakes her head. "No, I was up."

Prue smiles and settles at the edge of Emma's bed, smiling when her daughter crawls from Emma's lap into her own. "I ran a bath soaked with lilies for you," Prue tells her, "After, I will help you groom for the ceremony."

Emma swallows thickly and nods, turning her engagement ring on her finger nervously. "Are there many people already?" She inquires softly, her eyes flitting towards the open door. Prue squeezes her hand lightly and smiles comfortingly. "Yes, there are," she nods, "Killian and Liam are among the pride of the King's Navy; my wedding to Liam was even worse—there were so many people, some had to wait outside the city hall until we had spoken our vows."

That does _not_ help settle Emma's nerves.

Prue seems to realize this and smiles at her, nodding towards the bathroom, "Go, take your bath. Relax, you have plenty of time before you are expected to arrive at the city hall. Liam told me he would send word once he and Killian arrived."

"Okay," Emma breathes, lacing her fingers together to hide how badly her hands are shaking by now. She's excited and nervous and terrified all at the same time, and she really kind of wishes she could take Killian back to her world so they could elope in Vegas or something; it might be tacky, but all she needs is him.

She doesn't really care _how_ she gets him, as long as she does.

"Okay," she breathes, "I'll go… Take that bath then." Her voice is shaky, and she hopes Prue doesn't think she's having second thoughts—she might mention it to Killian, and it would break his heart, even though it's not true at all.

Prue nods and smiles as they both get up from the bed. "I will have someone prepare a light breakfast for you; just call for me when you are done—I will come help you prepare." With that, Prue exits the room, pulling her daughter out the door with her, leaving Emma to her thoughts.

"Okay then," Emma drawls, running her fingers through her hair, glancing towards the bathroom door, "Here I go." She moves off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, greedily inhaling the delicious, yet subtle scent of the lilies.

She eyes the bath for a long moment and then (after checking that she _is_ quite alone) jumps up and down and lets a girlish squeal escape from her lips.

"I'm getting married today!"

.

.

.

Meanwhile, across town, Killian is staring at his official navy dress blues, trying to get his own nerves and excitement under control. He's more than a little eager to start the day, to watch his Swan walk down the aisle, to make her his wife, so they can start their life together.

"Killian!" He's roughly pulled from his thoughts by his friends and brother crashing through the door, all three of them looking equally hung over—he chuckles a little; they had tried to get him drunk last night, Liam claiming it was a rite of passage, but he's fairly certain they all drank at least twice as much as he did.

To be honest, Horatio looks like he's about to keel over.

Not that Liam and Archie look so much better, he observes with a smirk. "Well, good morning to you too, gentlemen," Killian chuckles, running his fingers through his hair, several strands falling loose from his ponytail.

Horatio gives him a shove, crashing down onto Killian's bed with a loud groan. "I'm never drinking again," he moans into the pillow, causing the other three men in the room to burst out laughing. "I cannot believe that my two mates and brother will be hung over on my wedding day," Killian grumbles playfully, rolling his eyes as he gets up to get dressed.

"Especially you," he points at Liam accusingly, "You are leading the entire ceremony."

Liam merely rolls his eyes at his little brother and claps Archie on the shoulder. "Oh, Killian, don't be a bore; your betrothed would have approved of us going out to have a good time." Killian opens his mouth to argue, struggling to get his shirt on properly, when he realizes Liam might actually be quite right.

He's quite sure that Emma would have encouraged Liam to get him drunk (he's not even sure if she didn't). "Fine, fine," he chuckles, "but my betrothed will also be the one to have your head if you mess up the ceremony."

Archie breaks from Liam's side, nodding along with Killian's words while helping a green-looking Horatio sit up. "Heed those words, my friend," he chuckles, "Emma is quite the spitfire."

Liam holds up his hands in defeat, laughing as he strolls over to smooth out the creases in Killian's jacket. "You look quite dapper, brother," Liam smiles proudly, patting Killian's shoulder, "Emma is a lucky woman." Killian smiles nervously, running a comb through his hair quickly, before tying it back in a neat ponytail.

"I'm fairly certain that I am the lucky one in this union," he breathes, tugging on his cravat nervously. "Oh, that you are," Archie laughs, shaking his head while helping Horatio towards the bathroom, "That you are."

It takes them only a little while to get everyone up and ready to go, and by the time they leave, Killian is nearly bouncing up and down with nerves and excitement. Liam smiles every time he catches sight of his fidgety brother, and both Horatio and Archie (though the former is still a bit pale and shaky) keep teasing Killian about it.

When they arrive at the city hall, Killian is slightly taken aback by how grand and elaborately it is decorated. Orange flowers, blossoms and many other flowers he cannot identify adorn every available surface, and the second he sees it, he knows Emma will love it—even though he also knows she won't ever admit it to anyone but him.

Liam walks up behind him and claps his hand on Killian's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "They are on their way. Are you ready, brother?"

Killian breathes in shakily, a smile spreading across his lips. "Aye," he nods, "Aye, I am."

.

.

.

Emma tugs on her wavy, perfectly curled hair, biting her lip nervously as she stares into the mirror. The tight ball of nerves that is her stomach has only grown tighter in the past few hours, and her heart is trying to beat its way out of her chest.

Seeing herself in a wedding dress is more than a little surreal, and however much she feels ready to be Killian's wife, it's still a terrifying notion. She fidgets lightly with the long sleeves on the dress, trying not to look at Prue, who's standing behind her to arrange the veil on her curls. "Are you feeling okay, Emma?"

She breathes out shakily, nodding slowly. "Yeah. I mean, yes. I'm just—" She smoothes her hands over the tight bodice of the dress, grumbling under her breath when the corset constricts the deep breath she wants to take again.

God, she _hates_ that particular garment in this world.

"I'm nervous," she finishes, smiling tightly at Liam's wife. "Ah," Prue smiles sympathetically, "Simply think of Killian until you walk down the aisle… The very moment you see him, all will be well." Emma nods slowly, turning her eyes back to the mirror. She barely recognizes herself; she looks so much older…

Grown up.

"Come," Prue smiles, handing her the small bouquet, "It is time to leave. I have sent word to Killian and Liam that we are on our way."

The whole ride to the city hall is a haze, and all that truly registers in Emma's mind is that she's in a freaking horse-drawn carriage. This is turning out like a fucking fairytale and she's not sure what to do with that—so she ignores it.

All she thinks about is that her sweet, loving Lieutenant is waiting for her, and that he'll love her no matter what. She needs to believe that—she does, even though it's still hard to wrap her head around the fact that he _does_, in fact, love her.

They arrive at the city hall at noon, and the very moment the carriage pulls up to the city hall steps, the bells start ringing, announcing the bride's arrival to the entire city (and by the looks of it, most of the city is gathered in and around the city hall, which is _not_ good for her already frayed nerves). She's ushered into the city hall quickly, and it's not until she sees Archie waiting for her by the door (he's the one to escort her down the aisle, since she has no male family to give her away) that it really hits.

Holy shit.

This is actually happening.

Prue sends her a quick smile before she heads inside, following little Rose, who's tossing the rose petals she's holding everywhere, and then the music changes and Archie holds out his arm for her with a soft smile and…

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She eyes him warily, her nerves completely shot to hell by now, and places her (shaking) hand on his arm, trying to return his smile—she's not sure if she's convincing though. Archie grins and leans in, whispering, "He's nervous too, if it's any comfort," in her ear.

She's not sure why, but she _is_ strangely comforted by that.

Archie leads her to the large double doors, halting for a moment to wait for their cue. "You ready, Emma?" he asks softly, offering her a small smile. She takes a deep breath (or whatever goes for a deep breath here, with the stupid corset), and nods slowly. "I am."

She is.

She really is.

They wait for a long moment more, before Archie leads her through the double doors—and she can't stop the small gasp of surprise that falls from her lips at the sight that awaits her. She'd been lead to expect extravagance, a crowd of people she didn't know and the kind of wedding that had always made her shudder back home—but what she's getting…

What she's getting makes tears blur her vision and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

The inside of the city hall is decorated simply, rose vines wrapped around the seats and small bouquets placed on either side of the aisle.

There are still a few people she does not know; a few of Killian's commanding officers, she supposes; but she hardly even notices them. All she can focus on is that the hall is nearly empty, only filled with her, Archie, Horatio, Liam, Prue, Rose and Killian.

It's just them.

She locks her eyes with Killian's, slightly less embarrassed to be crying when she notices he is trying to blink away tears too—_that's_ her sweet Lieutenant. She _loves_ the way his eyes widen as he takes in what she's wearing, though she is thoroughly distracted by his attire—God, he looks absolutely _delicious_ in his official uniform.

Her heart skips a beat, and the only thing she's aware of anymore is her sweet, _sweet _soon-to-be husband waiting for her at the end of this far-too-long aisle.

She nearly drags Archie down the aisle in her haste to get to Killian (judging by the quiet chuckles and giggles, everyone notices just how eager she is), happily letting him take her hands in his. "Hey beautiful," he smiles, and she notices how his voice trembles lightly.

"Hi," she whispers back, once again overcome by emotions, unable to stop the single tear that ran down her cheek. Killian smiles again, reaching up to wipe away her tear with the pad of his thumb, his own eyes watering too as he lifts both her hands to his lips to press a soft, tender kiss to her knuckles—Emma bites her lip and manages a smile.

She can't tear her eyes away from Killian's, completely wrapped up in his burning gaze. She faintly registers Liam starting the ceremony—she tunes out then, her only focus on the man standing before her, the man she's pledging herself to for the rest of both their lives.

She doesn't snap out of the haze until Liam calls out for anyone who might object to their union, though he says the words so harshly, she doesn't really think anyone would dare to say anything, even if they wanted to.

Still, she holds her breath the entire thirty seconds that Liam pauses, and she can feel Killian's fingers tense around hers briefly too. She breathes a sigh of relief when no one speaks up, and Liam chuckles at her before he turns to his little brother, smiling as he asks him to repeat his vows after him. Killian only ever looks at her, and it makes her heart melt.

"Will thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife? Wilt thou forsake all other, keep thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will." Killian answers firmly, his eyes locked on hers.

Liam smiles and turns to her, repeating the question—her heart stutters at the look of mixed terror and excitement in Killian's eyes when she hesitates for a split-second before nodding and choking, "I will," slightly overcome by emotion.

"To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, and thereto I plight thee my love," they speak in unison, an unknown sense of warmth and love coursing through Emma's veins when Killian slips a simple silver wedding band on her finger, where it rests snugly next to her engagement ring.

His hands are shaking, and he sounds slightly choked as he says, "With this ring I thee wed, and with my worldly goods I thee endow." Liam smiles at the pair of them and announces, "As Captain in His Majesty's Royal Navy, Captain of The Jewel of The Realm and older brother of the groom, I pronounce that you are husband and wife together."

There's a tense silence for a moment, and Emma glares at Liam—she knows Killian isn't allowed to kiss her until Liam says so, and _damn him_, but he's making them wait on purpose.

Bloody bastard.

"Alright, Alright," Liam chuckles when both bride and groom glare at him, "You may kiss your bride, brother."

It feels like the most natural, most real thing she has ever done, her arms sliding around Killian's neck as his fingers curl into her hair, their lips colliding softly, but no less passionate then any of their other kisses—but she can feel the difference.

This isn't merely a kiss, no simple brush of the lips—no, this is a promise for the future; cheesy as it sounds, she's sure she can feel their souls entwining on a new level.

Jesus.

He makes her go soft.

She loves it.

Killian's the one to pull away from her, resting his forehead against hers as they listen to their friends cheering and whooping. She hugs him close and presses another soft kiss to his lips, her heart feeling so light, and so filled with love, she was sure could fly away if she tried.

"You're my husband," she whispers, staring deeply into his eyes, loving how she can read his every emotion and sentiment.

He smiles and whispers, "Aye. And you are my wife, darling."

She nods and smiles. Somehow, spending her life with Killian sounds like the best decision she's ever made.

"I love you, Mrs. Jones," he whispers to her as he leads her out of city hall. She squeezes her fingers around his, smiling when he helps her into the carriage. "I love you too, Mr. Jones," she finally responds, resting her head on his shoulder as the carriage starts to move, driving them away from the city slowly, to their honeymoon—which Killian refuses to tell her about.

She'll get it out of him.

She sighs tiredly and closes her eyes, drawing his arm around her shoulder as she snuggles into him.

She'll get it out of him _later_.

.

.

.

**Several hours later**

"Killian!" Emma shrieks, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly, he can barely breathe. "Put me down, you crazy idiot!" He laughs delightedly, shaking his head, shifting her slightly in his arms. "Ah, but I do not wish for you to trip in the doorway, my love," he presses a kiss to her cheek, "It is considered very bad luck for our marriage—by carrying you, I take away that risk, and we will have a very prosperous life together."

He relishes in the sound of her giggles, kicking the door to what will be their home for the coming three weeks open. "You're still an idiot," she murmurs in his ear, "But I love you anyway."

"I suppose that is a good thing," he grins, maneuvering them both into the house, "You _did_ just wed me." She giggles, her breath washing over the skin of his neck, raising goose bumps all over his body. She hums against him, pressing her lips to his neck, whispering, "I did… And now that you mention it… We do have a marriage to consummate."

Slowly (and far more reluctant than he's willing to admit) he lowers her, setting her back on her own two feet, though she does not allow him to step away from her—her arms are still wrapped around him tightly; and he is not complaining at all. "Emma," he breathes, resting his hands on her hips lightly, "though I… I _want_ this… Us, consummating our marriage…" He swallows thickly and finishes, "I don't want you to believe that I expect it of you. If you do not wish t—" She cuts him off, pressing her lips to his, resting their foreheads together.

He sighs contently, melting into her kiss after a moment of hesitation, treading his fingers through her luscious golden curls, before allowing her to break the kiss to breathe. Emma blushes prettily and breathes in deeply, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

Gods damn him, that look does things to him.

"I want this too," she whispers softly, stroking his cheek, "I love you." He slides his hands down her sides, playing with the lacing on the back of her dress. "Are you certain, love? I do not wish for you to feel pressured." His heart is beating so hard and loudly, he's almost certain she can hear it—she tilts her head, brushing her lips over his just a tiny little bit (just enough to drive him insane with desire).

"Of course I am," she whispers, curling her fingers in the fabric of his vest, "Kiss me again." He happily obliges and kisses her—his Swan, his darling, his _wife_—deeply, fully, gently tugging on the lacing at the back of her dress, loosening the ties as much as he can manage with one hand, while burying the other in her curls.

They stumble further into the house, and he's trying to lead them to where he vaguely remembers the bedchamber is located, but Emma's tongue is in his mouth and _bloody buggering hell_…

He can barely remember his own name, much less the lay-out of the house.

"Emma," he groans against her lips, sighing victoriously when he manages to undo the laces that holds her dress together, pushing it off her shoulders gently, revealing her undergarments.

She looks absolutely breathtaking, and when he tells her so, she curses under her breath and tells him if he likes breathtaking, he should try wearing the bloody corset himself. He slides his fingers over her warm, soft skin, smiling briefly at her cheeky comment before taking her hand in his and leading her to their bedchambers.

Once inside, he carefully closes the door, watching as Emma takes in the room, playing with the laces that tie her corset absent-mindedly. She turns slowly, biting her lower lip gently, "You're wearing too many clothes, husband," she whispers huskily, approaching him with an almost hungry look in her eyes, "How about we change that?"

They're both absolutely still for a split second, and then his lips are on hers again, and he's lifting her, carrying her over to the bed where he lets her fall back onto the soft mattress, his hands instantly reaching for the laces of her corset, fumbling slightly, because his fingers are shaking with want and desire and nervousness.

Eventually, he breaks the kiss, leaving the both of them panting and desperate for air, yet still wanting more—his hands are still shaking as he unties her corset, and he's fumbling around like an incompetent fool, but he does manage, and then the corset slips and she's bare before him—and _Gods_, she's glorious.

"Gods, you are so beautiful," he breathes. "Killian," Emma whines softly, tugging on his shirt and snapping him from his haze, "Take of your clothes, mister," she orders, and he can't help but chuckle at her bossiness.

"As you wish, milady," he grins, sitting back and pulling his shirt over his head—he's lost his jacket somewhere already, though he's not sure where or when—feeling a slight burst of male pride when she eyes his chest appreciatively. "Killian," she moves slightly, sitting up just far enough to pull his lips back to hers—and then he's simply gone.

He's no longer aware of himself, he just _does_, moving her back against the bed, relishing in the feel of her body against his—skin to skin, their mouths permanently fused together. He's hard, ready, pushing against her thigh, her fingernails digging into his back, and all he can think about is that it's not enough, and that he needs _more_ of her.

He'll never be able to get enough of her.

"Please," she breathes against his lips, "Killian, please." Neither of them says anything coherent after that—he's fairly certain he doesn't even think anything coherently as the remainder of their clothes gets tossed and they melt together in every way possible, and all that registers with him is the faint noises that fall from her lips, the soft cries and moans of pleasure every time he does something right and all he can do to tell her how much he loves her is groan and move faster and there's nothing but them.

Their hands are clasped together so tightly, his knuckles are whitening and he _can't_ breathe, he can't think…

All he's aware of is Emma.

And then she's crying out, panting his name in his ear, tightening impossibly around him—and then he's gone too.

The wave of pleasure that washes over him is so good, so intense, it nearly drowns him as he collapses on top of her, wrapping himself around her to keep himself at least a little bit grounded before he gets completely washed away by pleasure.

Emma's body relaxes beneath his, her arms wrapping loosely around his back, her fingers trailing up and down his spine gently—it would send shivers down his spine, but he is so spent and sated, he can barely keep his eyes open; he loves how she breathes in soft little puffs, how her muscles still contract and how she's pressing her lips to his temple.

Gods, he can love this woman forever.

"Oh my God," she pants, her fingers tangling in his hair, "That was…" She stops and exhales in frustration, and he chuckles a little, moving so he's leaning on his elbows, staring down at her. "I know," he whispers, leaning down to press a soft, gentle kiss to her lips, "me too."

When he moves to lie down next to her, she whines and tightens her arms and legs around him, so he couldn't move away, even if he'd wanted to. "Don't move," she pleads, "I like you right where you are." He complies and rests his head on her chest again, soothed by the sound of her heart thudding steadily against her chest, beneath his ear.

"I love you, Emma," he breathes, his eyes closing despite him trying to stay awake longer, to bask in the afterglow for a little bit longer. He doesn't register her fingers running through his hair, nor her soft, blissful smile, or her whispered, "I love you too, Killian."

.

.

.

.

**Two weeks later**

They stroll across the crowded market place, their fingers laced together tightly—Emma refuses to let go of him, and it is a comfort to him still. They've been in the small town for two weeks now, and though Killian does love the peace and quiet (and the amount of time he and Emma have been able to spend together without interruption), he finds himself missing his brother, Rose and even Prue.

He knows that Emma, too, has been missing Rose—she had grown quite fond of his niece before their wedding.

She has been quiet for a couple of days now, and Killian had decided to take her out into town because of that; he loathes not knowing what is bothering her. They had both been wrapped up in a happy bubble since their wedding; at least he had thought so—but the fact remains that his Emma has been silent and slightly sad and he has no idea what is going on or how to help her.

He is hoping that being out and around other people will brighten her spirits, because he is at a loss of what to do.

She's staring at the small stall with shiny jewelry and nick-knacks, and he loves the way a small, barely noticeable smile hitches the corner of her lips up—it's the most honest smile he's seen of her in two days. "Do you see something you like, darling?" He asks softly, sliding his arm around her waist.

"The necklace," she whispers, leaning back into his embrace, "with the small rosebud. Do you think Rose would like it?" He smiles and presses a kiss to her cheek, pressing their joined hands onto her stomach. "I think she would love it, my sweet. Would you like to purchase it?" She nods eagerly, and he's relieved that she's actually this excited over something so small.

When Emma's clutching a small package containing the necklace, they continue strolling down the marketplace, and Killian's more than a little bit relieved that Emma seems to have relaxed a little more. They stop to purchase two sweet rolls, and Killian finally manages to shove aside his slight reluctance and holds her back when she tries to continue their walk.

"Emma, love," he says slowly, hesitantly, "Is there something…" he breathes in deeply and bites his lip, "Something amiss?"

"What? No, nothing's… Wrong." Emma's eyes widen and she swallows thickly—and he can see the panic in her eyes. "Love, don't lie to me," he shakes his head, pulling her closer to him by her hand, "I know something is bothering you, and I wish you would simply tell me what it is." He strokes her cheek with his free hand, "We are married, darling. We share our troubles. We do this together."

He winces at the tears that well up in her eyes, but refuses to falter, or to step back. He meant every word he spoke in his wedding vows, and he plans to keep his word. "Remember when I came to town a few days ago, with Marianne?" He nods—she'd been insistent on going with the housekeeper, stating she was going stir-crazy from just sitting in the house and not doing much of anything.

"There…" she hesitates, and he tightens his fingers around hers slightly, "There was this old woman… A gypsy, fortune teller, whatever," she shakes her head and smiles tightly at him, "I was curious, so I let her read my hand, and she got all…" she shudders, and he swallows thickly—gypsy women are unpredictable and even dangerous at times. "She got all weird," Emma finishes, shrugging lightly.

"Weird? Odd?" he clarifies, as he is still often baffled by her vocabulary, "How do you mean?"

"She…" Emma looks down, her next words so low and quiet, he can barely hear her.

And what he hears…

He nearly chokes on his words, his fingers gripping her shoulders tightly. "Emma, what did you say?" She blinks up at him with her beautiful green eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek, and he wishes he could tell whether it is a happy tear or not.

"She said I'm pregnant."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi everyone! How are you all doing? **

**I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read, fave, follow and review my story, because I had an _insane_ amount of response to this! I'm serious, you've broken all of my records. I've never had this kind of response before, and I am absolutely honored that you love this little thingy my brain decided to come up with all of a sudden. **

**So, I know you were all curious about this chapter, and I know it's short, but it needs to be. The story kicks into gear after this one, and there are some bumpy seas ahead for out lovely Lieutenant, his Swan and their little family. **

**So, I'm gonna go back to studying, and I hope you all have awesome holidays, and if I don't update before the New Year, Happy New Year to all of you!**

**Bye y'all, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p), and hopefully, they'll make the hiatus seem like it's shorter. **

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Across Time And Space**

He's staring at her, and the knot in her stomach tightens—she knew, she _knew_ it was too soon for them to have a baby, and now he'll be mad at her because it sucks having a baby this young—it's gonna ruin their lives—and then suddenly, he's kissing her and she can't breathe and…

Shit.

She kisses him back—of course she does—playing with his hair idly, relaxing slightly, despite how nervous she was (and still is, to be honest). When he leans back, she pouts, because as long as he's kissing her, she knows they're okay, and she doesn't want to hear if he's upset about her being pregnant (though, now that she thinks about it, it's not like she took a test, and for God's sake.. Wouldn't it be way too early to tell? She was a virgin up until two weeks ago—you can't tell that early, right?)

"You're with child?" he breathes, and she swears to God… He sounds awed. "If she was right," she whispers, still slightly unsure about how he'll respond, "I mean… It's not like there's a test or anything. All we have is the word of a gypsy woman." He chuckles, nudging her nose with his and pressing a soft kiss to her lips before whispering, "That and many a day we spent in bed, my love."

Her cheeks flush and she flails slightly, but he's already moving, dropping to his knees before her (in the middle of the fucking street, mind you), pressing soft kisses to her stomach. "Killian," she hisses, "Get up! What are you doing?"

"Hush, love," he scolds her, "I'm greeting our child." Her eyes flood with tears at his words, and she swears, she's never loved him more than she does right now. She twines her fingers in his hair as he whispers silly nothings to her stomach, trying desperately not to cry; he's happy—she is too, but she's also so _scared_.

She doesn't know how to be a mom.

Killian gets to his feet slowly, cupping her cheeks as he pulls her forward to kiss her again. "We're having a child," he whispers against her lips, "We're having a child." She breathes in relief at the pure happiness in his voice, nodding along slightly. "We're not sure yet," she reminds him, "I mean, it hasn't been that long… She could be wrong."

"No," he shakes his head stubbornly, playing with one of her curls, "She's right, I'm certain. We're having a baby." She chuckles a little, because honestly… He's more stubborn than she is—they are going to suffer when they do have a child.

Their kid is going to be the most headstrong kid ever.

"Come love," he suddenly cuts through her thoughts, "We must go back to the house." She frowns in confusion, not moving though he's tugging at her hand insistently. "Why are you in such a hurry?" She asks, squeezing his hand tightly. He looks down sheepishly and smiles, "You need to take off the corset. I remember when Prue was expecting Rose, she stopped wearing corsets because it was bad for the baby."

"Oh," Emma breathes, her eyes wide and astonished—she hadn't even thought of that. "Really? It's bad for the baby?" Her hands fall to her stomach and she feels slightly panicked at the mere thought of their baby being anything less than 100 % perfect.

"Not this early on," he assures her, wrapping his arms around her, "the child will be fine for some time—but I know you do not enjoy wearing corsets anyway.." he smiles a little and strokes her cheek, "I thought you might like the opportunity to stop wearing them." Emma's smile brightens instantly, and she nods eagerly. "Yes! I would love to stop wearing them! Let's go!"

He chuckles slightly at her enthusiasm, but allows her to drag him along as she nearly bounces back down the road, towards the their house. She doesn't let go of his hand until they're back at the house, and she doesn't turn around to face him until they're in the bedroom, when she realizes that him being in the same room when she takes off the corset might not be the best idea if they want to do anything else today.

And besides, if she is pregnant… Can they still have sex?

She blanches a little at the thought of not sleeping with him for nine fucking months—that would be too damn long. She turns around slowly, biting her lip nervously as she looks at him. "Can we still… Can we still have sex?" She chokes a little, her eyebrows furrowing, "It won't hurt the baby, will it?"

Killian's nose crinkles, and he shakes his head, sliding his arms around her waist, "Well.. I don't think so. And if I am to believe my brother," he shivers a little in disgust, "All you will be able to think about in a few months is sex, darling." He taps her nose playfully and leans in to press a soft kiss to her lips. "Oh," she breathes against his lips, "And … How will that be different from right now, exactly?"

She can feel his smile against her lips and she can't help but smile too—he knows she's right.

Besides, it's not her fault her husband is hot.

"You know," she whispers, her breathing growing slightly more labored when said husband begins trailing kisses down from her lips to the edge of her dress, "I might need some help getting out of that bloody corset."

He grins wickedly then, glancing up at her—his eyes are dark and it sends a shiver down her spine; that looks predicts so much…

So much pleasure.

Oh, she loves where this is going.

"As you wish, milady," he smiles, kissing his way back up to her lips, "As you wish."

.

.

.

They have been back for a few days now, and though Emma is now almost certain that she is with child—she claims her monthly bleeds are late, and that she has never been late before—they have not shared their news with anyone yet, and Emma doesn't want to either.

He does not fully understand why she is insisting on keeping her condition a secret, but, as she's trying to explain, apparently it is something quite common in her land.

They are currently holed up in their bedchambers, Emma claiming to be tired and unwilling to entertain other people—her words, not his. He is sitting with his back against the headboard, Emma's back resting against his chest as their entwined fingers rest upon her stomach. "You know, in my world," she whispers, "We have this thing called 'ultrasound'… It can show you what the baby looks like and how far along I am and all." She sighs and leans back against him, "I wish we could do that now. I would love to see our baby grow."

He's intrigued by the idea of seeing the baby before he or she has even been born, but he can hardly comprehend the idea. "How is that possible?" He questions in the same soft tone, stroking his fingers over her flat, bare stomach.

She shrugs a little and sighs. "I don't know exactly. I've never been pregnant before. I just know stuff I remember from health classes." He frowns a little, unsure what she means with health classes, but decides not to question it. "I'm a few weeks along," she continues, "So… Our baby's probably the size of a peanut by now."

He chuckles a little, pressing a kiss to her temple—he remembers her telling him that a peanut was a salty little nut; a snack; that was shaped almost like a bean. "A little bean then," he chuckles, "Our little bean."

They're silent for a while, and he closes his eyes, enjoying the moment—he won't be able to do this for a few weeks, and much as he loathes to leave Emma now, he cannot turn down an easy assignment like this. The King had specifically asked for him and Liam, assuring him that it was a one-time thing; that the time they spend on the mission will be added to the time they get off—so that Killian will be able to spend far more time with Emma before he needs to take on another assignment.

"I hate that you're leaving," she whispers softly, and he doesn't have to look at her to know that she's crying.

He tightens his arms around her and presses his lips to her temple again. "I know, my love, I know. But it is but a short mission. Liam assured me that it would take no longer than two to three weeks."

"That's still too long," she whines softly, "We _just_ got married, and we're having a baby and I don't know this world and… I just want to spend more time with you." He smiles a little, but doesn't respond—she's right.

He, too, would prefer to spend far more time with his wife before they need to settle in their new, everyday lives. "It will be fine, love," he finally whispers, "I will be back before you know it, and you will have Prue and Rose to help you settle."

Emma only grumbles in response, her fingers flexing against his. "How do we do this?" she asks after another moment of comfortable silence, turning in his arms, so that she is straddling him. "How am I supposed to stand on that dock and watch you sail away, knowing all the things that could go wrong—the things that could keep you away from me forever?"

There are tears welling up in her eyes and he hates that she is so upset about this, because he _can't_ turn down this assignment, not when the King specifically requested him and Liam. "Nothing will keep me from you," he vows, rubbing his thumb over her cheek gently, erasing any trace of tears, "there is no power strong enough to keep me from you, my love."

She sighs deeply and leans forward, resting her forehead against his. "You can't make that promise," she whispers while pulling herself closer to him, moving deeper into his embrace.

"I know," he whispers, wincing, because he hates how she's been hurt in the past, how she's been left by people she loved and cared about so many times that she's absolutely terrified to let him out of her sight for fear he might not come back to her. It's something he understands all too well—though he has not nearly suffered the same kind of losses as she has, he _does_ understand how scared she is.

He is too.

He loathes the mere idea of not having her in his life.

"But I can promise that I will never leave you of my own free will. I can promise that I will fight for you—always, my Swan. I'll never abandon you or our child," he adds, running his fingers up and down her spine slowly, soothingly, as she snuggles against him, her breath fanning over his collarbone. He feels her eyelashes flutter against his skin when she closes her eyes, and rests his cheek against her hair, closing his own eyes as she whispers a "okay."

"I love you, Killian," she says after a short silence, her fingers trailing over his arm slowly, and his heart skips a beat, because he will never be able to convey to Emma how much he loves her—adores her.

Needs her.

"And I you, my love," he whispers in return, tightening his embrace on her slightly, "Always."

.

.

.

"All hands on deck!"

He strides across the deck of the Jewel of the Realm, trying his very best to remain as professional as he can manage with his mind still quite preoccupied by his wife and the way she had wished him a good journey, reminding him that he had promised to return to her—to them.

.

.

.

_"Promise me you'll be safe," she tugs on his cravat lightly, a little bit harder than necessary, as she pretends to straighten it. "And that you won't do anything stupid." He smiles indulgently, and decides not to remind her that this is not his first journey, nor that he is as nervous about their separation as she is. _

_"I promise, Emma," he smiles, wrapping his fingers around her wrists delicately, pulling her closer so he can press a kiss to her forehead. "You have to come back," she mutters, "You promised you'd be back for me and the little bean." _

_"And I shall," he responds, "There's not a day that will go by that I will not think of you, my love." _

_"Good," she smiles shakily, and tears well up in her eyes, "You better come back soon, mister," she orders in a no-nonsense tone that makes him chuckle slightly. "I'll miss you too, darling," he whispers, pressing a short kiss to her lips. _

_He yields when she pulls on his hair and kisses him again, allowing them both one more moment before he needs to leave. "I will see you soon," he breathes against her lips when she breaks the kiss, smiling a little when she merely kisses him again, before sinking into his arms for one last embrace. _

.

.

.

Absent-mindedly, he taps one of the sailor's chests where his vest is not properly buttoned. "Apologies, Lieutenant," the man grumbles, and for some reason, it bothers him that they do not address him with his name.

"Lieutenant _Jones_, sailor," he says slowly, clearly, "The Captain is in transit with orders directly given to him by the King _himself_." He paces the deck slowly, tensely, trying to take his mind _off_ his wife and their child and onto the mission, so he can complete it quickly and safely, and return home to her in one piece, like he promised her.

"Before he returns," he continues, shaking himself from his reverie, "this ship will be swabbed, specked and—" he stops dead at the sound of clinking glass, closing his eyes in desperation for a brief moment, before he turns to the responsible sailor, fishing a poorly hidden bottle of rum from the man's pocket, waving it toward the other sailors (and trying to ignore the urge to drain the bottle himself). "Does anyone know what happens to sailors who drink rum?"

The men are all silent, and he continues harshly, trying to work off his own frustrations on them. "They get drunk. And drunkenness leads to bad form—and the one thing that will not be tolerated aboard this ship is _bad form_." He tosses the bottle, angrier with himself for being tempted to drink from it than he is with the sailor to have brought it.

"My ship has never been in finer hands," Liam booms as he steps aboard The Jewel, "Excuse our Lieutenant, men, he was pulled from his honeymoon and his wife's bed unexpectedly—any man would be in a foul mood," he jokes, and Killian smiles slightly in relief while the men all laugh and tip their hats at Liam as he approaches them.

"Captain," he nods at his brother, "We stand ready to receive the King's orders." Liam nods and bellows, "To your stations," before he turns to Killian and claps his hand on Killian's shoulder. "I feel as though I have not seen you since you came home, brother." Killian grins sheepishly, following Liam to the helm of the ship, shrugging a little.

"I would apologize, brother, but I do not regret spending all of my time with my wife whatsoever." His smirks is almost devilish, and Liam chuckles in response. "Aye, nor should you be. I do hope you are able to pull your attention from your lovely Emma for the duration of our assignment."

"I make no promises," Killian winks playfully, "she is quite lovely.. And—" he glances around briefly, verifying that they cannot be overheard, "I wish to return to her swiftly… I loathe leaving her in her condition."

Liam whirls around, his eyes wide and startled. "Her condition?" He repeats slowly, "She is with child?"

"Aye," Killian nods, hushing his brother lightly, "But do not shout it off rooftops—Emma wishes for it to be a secret for a little while longer." Liam nods, clapping his hand on Killian's shoulder briefly. "Congratulations, brother. You both will make fine parents."

Killian's stomach squeezes a little, and he nods, disguising his nerves as excitement. "I certainly hope so, brother. Now, please, let us set off on our journey—the sooner we leave, the sooner we can return."

Liam chuckles and nods, opening his satchel and handing Killian a beautiful golden sextant, to commemorate their latest journey together. "So," Killian asks when he has thanked his brother and examined the sextant, "whereto, brother?"

Liam smiles secretively and pats the top of his satchel. "A land where none before us has set foot, Killian. We are in need of our Pegasus sail too."

"Pegasus?" Killian demands, "We are travelling across realms?"

"Aye, we are," Liam nods, "And I've need for you, little brother, to set our course." Killian glances down at the sextant in his hands briefly before looking up at Liam. "And what might our heading be, Captain?"

"It's quite simple," Liam chuckles, maneuvering the ship out of the harbor with practiced ease, "Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning."


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi everyone! Happy New Year to you all!**

**I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read, fave, follow and review my story, because I had an _insane_ amount of response to this! Over three thousand views on last chapter and the highest amount of reviews I have ever had on one chapter!**

**Now, I sincerely hope none of you guessed which road I was taking :p I took some creative liberties, and I hope you will all stick with me. **

**Now, I should warn you up front, we're gonna be time jumping again in the next chapter, and nothing (absolutely nothing) will be what it seems. Please, give me some wild guesses on what will be my next move :p I'm very curious to see what you think. **

**Please, review like you did last chapter? That was awesome :D**

**Bye y'all, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p), and hopefully, they'll make the hiatus seem like it's shorter. **

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Across Time And Space**

Neverland, as his brother has named the strange realm they have entered, is the most peculiar place he has ever had the (dis)pleasure of visiting. There is magic in the air in a way he has never before experienced.

It is everywhere—soaking into the rays of sunlight that burns on his skin, whispering in the wind that rustles the leaves of the trees overhead, vibrating in the earth beneath his feet—and it unnerves him, despite Liam's constant assurances that all is well, and that all they need to do is find the plant; Dreamshade.

He still feels grossly uncomfortable about the entire mission—the boy they had met on the beach (Peter Pan, was it?) might just be a child, but he _does_ live here. Would he not know the nature of the plant they seek? And why would he lie about its magical properties?

The questions swirl in his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he simply cannot shake the feeling that something is absolutely, horribly _wrong_.

They have been on this trek for _hours_—he is not complaining; if they find this plant today, they will be able to return home within days rather than weeks, and he will be reunited with his Emma far sooner than he had thought. They round a corner, and come upon a broad ledge, his eyes immediately falling upon an entire wall covered by thick, thorny branches with large green leaves, and the sick feeling in his stomach only worsens.

Liam pulls out the parchment to compare the drawing of the plant they were ordered to find to this one, but Killian does not need it—this is what the King wanted them to bring home.

And it does not at all resemble medicine.

When he shares his concerns with his brother, Liam shakes his head and approaches the plant, admonishing him lightly. "You choose to believe that boy over our King?"

"That boy," Killian sighs, "showed us the path to the Dreamshade—why would he lie about its nature?" though he hopes Liam will listen to reason, will realize, too, that something about this is horribly amiss, he knows that his brother is too stubborn and too loyal to even consider the possibility of their King sending them on a mission with a purpose so vile. "To keep it all for himself," Liam gestures widely, "Do you actually think our King would send us to retrieve something so dangerous?"

"Well, I hope not," Killian grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, "This is not what I signed up for."

"You signed up to listen to your King," Liam turns around, glaring at him harshly—but he's not going to take this laying down. Something is not right about this and Killian will make damn sure Liam knows it too. "Because I thought he was a man of honor," he replies heatedly, ignoring Liam's exasperated rebuttal and continues, "If this truly is a poison, it won't just end the war—it will obliterate an entire race!"

"What do you know of any of this?" Liam glares at him, and though Killian realizes his brother is right, he cannot stand down on this. "I'm your brother and your Captain. You will listen to me. You will _trust_ in me, brother."

It is those final words that nearly dissuade him.

Nearly.

"No." He shakes his head. "I'll fight my enemies, but I'll fight them fair."

Killian can nearly see Liam's exasperated eye roll—and Gods, if he doesn't remind him of Emma in that moment—as he proclaims, "Then allow me to disabuse you of that notion." With far too much theatrics for the seriousness of the moment, Liam cuts off a branch of the Dreamshade, raising his eyebrows at Killian.

Something compels Killian to stare at his brother, and he finds himself unable to move a muscle, staring in utter horror as Liam raises his arm and purposefully cuts himself with one of the thorns—and he _cannot_ move. "Brother, don't!" He exclaims, fighting to move, to get to Liam and slap the bloody branch from his hands.

Liam merely raises an eyebrow at him, smiling lightly. "You see? I'm perfectly fine." He tosses the branch and shakes his head. "I told you, our King would never lie to us. Now," he turns back to the plant, and Killian exhales a little in relief, though the pit in his stomach never lessens, "let's collect our specimens and get off this—"

Liam gasps and freezes, and Killian frowns, momentarily confused by Liam's sudden change in demeanor. "Liam?" His heart drops when Liam turns, and he catches a glimpse of the black veins that are spreading across Liam's skin, originating from the thin cut on his arm—he can barely move forward fast enough to catch Liam when he falls backwards, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"No!" Killian cries, falling to his knees, Liam's body falling half-across his lap, "No, Liam!"

"I'm sorry, brother," Liam breathes, before his entire body goes slack, and his eyes flutter closed. Killian stares down at his brother's face, unable to comprehend what is happening—it can't be.

It _can't_.

Liam's all he has—he can't think about Prue or Rose or Emma and the baby—Gods, he _needs _his brother; he needs Liam to scold him when he is foolish, and to give him advice that never really helps when he is at odds with Emma and he _needs_ his big brother.

And Liam needs him.

The thought halts him, and he clenches his fingers on Liam's jacket as he attempts to get a hold of himself—Liam needs him to be responsible now.

The ship.

He needs to get him back to the ship, and he and the men can plan their next move from there. It is as sound a plan as he can come up with under this kind of duress, and he can only decide to go for it immediately, leaving no time for the poison (for clearly, that is what the plant contains) to spread any further.

He has to get Liam to the ship and find a cure.

"I tried to warn you," a child's voice suddenly interrupts his attempt to get his brother up, to get him down from the bloody mountain. His eyes immediately lock upon the boy that they had encountered on the beach earlier today, and his stomach drops when the boy continues, "he'll die as soon as the poison reaches his heart."

"But there's a cure," Killian pleads, his voice wavering as his eyes prickle with unwanted tears, "There has to be a cure. Please."

The boy—Pan, Killian remembers—smiles devilishly, shaking his head. "Oh, there is. But this is no ordinary cure, Lieutenant. It will require a sacrifice, a price to be paid. It will be a price that might be too much—something you are unwilling to give up."

Killian knows, rationally, that he should heed the boy's words.

After everything that has already transpired on this bloody damned island, he should know better—but all that he can think of is that he _needs_ to save Liam, whatever the cost may be.

"Anything," he proclaims, stumbling to his feet, "I'll give you anything you desire, but please, help him."

Pan chuckles, but inclines his head and moves forward, towards the Dreamshade, rambling about his lucky day and Neverland and magic springs, but he honestly cannot care—he watches in wonder as the Dreamshade's vines untangle and withdraw, revealing a sparkling water source, and he realizes that that water is the only thing that will save his brother; and that is all he cares about.

"Thank you," he utters sincerely, nodding at the boy, already uncapping his water skin to fill it with this supposedly healing water.

"Remember," Pan cackles as he fills the water skin as quickly as he can, "There's always a price. Don't leave the island unless you are willing to pay it."

Killian nods, only half-listening as he stumbles back to where his brother lays on the cold, hard ground, his condition deteriorating visibly. "Come on, brother," he pleads, "Drink. Wake up." He drops the empty water skin and shakes Liam, desperation lacing his voice when Liam doesn't respond.

"Liam!" He cries, shaking his brother's shoulders, "Liam, come on, you selfish, stubborn bastard, wake up!" Liam's breath stutters and falters, and Killian's heart stops—one beat, two beats—and then Liam chokes, coughing and rolling over, Killian hovering over him concernedly. "Liam? Are you okay?"

"Aye," Liam coughs, "And that's still Captain to you," he adds, and Killian can't stop the near-hysterical laughter that bubbles over his lips, because he's okay.

Liam's okay.

His brother is okay.

All will be well now.

.

.

.

Something is wrong.

He cannot positively identify what it is that feels wrong, but there is something missing—there's an itch in the back of his mind, insisting that there is something infinitely important that he should be remembering, but he _can't_, however much he tries.

Liam, too, has expressed the odd feeling of forgetfulness, but they both assume Liam's amnesia is due to the large amount of poison that has yet to leave his system. It had started the moment the ship landed back onto safe seas in their own realm.

They had been trying to decide what to do about the King's betrayal when it had hit; it had been subtle, nearly undetectable, and he would not have known had he not been mid-thought when he suddenly could not remember what he had been thinking about. Liam too, expressed the same confusion, but when neither of them could recall what their thoughts had entailed, they returned to the subject they remembered discussing; the King, and the quest they had been sent on.

Liam, ever the reasonable voice, pointed out that perhaps, not even the King had known of Dreamshade's true nature. They were speaking of something originating from another realm, after all.

Realm-crossing information was often unreliable, and it was entirely possible that the King, too, would be baffled by what Dreamshade truly was.

"Perhaps we should simply take this matter to the Admiralty," Liam reasoned, "They can assess the true threat, and without my ship, none can cross to the other realm; magic beans _are_ hard to come by, after all."

Killian scoffs and leans back against the wall, shaking his head. "We found one for Emma easily enough." As soon as the words fall from his lips, he stiffens, and Liam stares at him, and he is quite he feels as baffled as his brother looks.

"Wh—wha—who is Emma, brother?" Liam questions slowly, almost as uncertainly—and he understands the feeling all too well.

It's like he _should _know the answer; but he can't quite recall.

"I—" he stutters, "I...don't know." He shakes his head, stalking over to the window, sighing deeply, "I don't know where that came from." The uncomfortable, twisting feeling in his gut is overwhelming and unsettling, and he just. Can't. Shake. It.

He hears Liam move behind him, and sighs when his brother squeezes his shoulder briefly. "Worry not, brother," Liam says slowly, "We will get to the bottom of this—and we will all be alright; we go home to our wives and children." Killian frowns at that, turning to his brother with a frown. "Brother, I have no clue what you speak of—you know I am not wedded, nor betrothed."

"Yes," Liam frowns, "I do. I do not know why I said that." Killian opens his mouth to share his suspicions; perhaps Neverland's magic has somehow altered their memories, their minds; when he spots land—the docks.

The city.

And all then he is thinking about is that he will be able to see his adorable little niece again—and all thoughts of confusion and amnesia flee from his mind. "Come, brother," Liam smiles, "We must make port—we have many a thing to do as soon as we set foot on land." Killian merely nods and follows his brother, feeling somewhat dazed as he goes through the motions, the process of docking the ship—and it is not until they are already docked, and he and the men are discussing their leave, that he realizes there are soldiers waiting for them.

A lot of soldiers.

He turns to point it out to Liam—but he has already taken notice, and is proceeding down the gangway, nodding towards the commanding officer. "What can I help you with, gentlemen?" Liam inquires pleasantly, though Killian recognizes his brother's distant, Captain-stance.

"Captain Liam Jones?" The man inquires, glancing to his right, where a small boy is holding what looks to be a royal decree, his expression grim when Liam nods in affirmation, "You are hereby stripped from your titles and duties to His Majesty's Royal Navy, and you are to be tried on charges of high treason."

Killian moves before he even realizes he does, watching in horror as his brother is surrounded by soldiers and clapped in irons—but strong hands hold him back, and however much he struggles, he cannot break free. "Liam!" He is full-fledged panicking now, struggling as hard as he can, but the men's grip never loosens—he does realize it must be the crew holding him back—, "Liam!"

The last image he sees before someone clocks him over the head and the world turns dark is his brother being led away by soldiers, and a tearful, sad, but determined-looking Prue watching from a short distance.

And then there is nothing.

.

.

.

Emma breathes in deeply, wincing at the painful throbbing in her head. She remembers dreaming—a wonderful, fairytale-like dream that she never wants to wake up from, even though she cannot remember anything specific.

Slowly though, she becomes more and more aware of the world around her, and she realizes (much to her displeasure and even fear) that she has absolutely no clue where she is, or how she got there. She builds up her courage, taking a few more deep breaths before she opens her eyes slowly (the pounding in her head gets worse, and she winces) more than a little surprised to find herself cramped in the backseat of some tiny little car.

"Oh shit," she breathes when the implications of her predicament hit her (and really, the only thing that makes sense to her is that some psycho kidnapped her), until she realizes the car isn't moving, and that the person in the front seat is a young man—not much older than her, and that she definitely has the element of surprise if she just jumps out and runs away now.

Yes.

That's what she'll do.

She'll open the door and run away as fast as she can.

_Okay Swan,_ she ignores the way her heart squeezes slightly when she calls herself that, _on three._

_One. Two. Three. _

She swallows thickly and curls her fingers around the handle, yanking it down and pushing the door open, rolling out of the backseat clumsily, but fast enough to get to her feet and start running (read: stumbling) down the alley they had been parked in, ignoring the pervert's yells behind her—she just needs to get away.

"Wait!" Pervert yells after, "Please, wait—look, you're hurt!"

Her head is swimming, and she realizes he is right; she _is_ hurt—but as he is probably the one to have hurt her in the first place, she is not particularly inclined to stop and chat. She continues running as fast as she can, but she can still hear him following her, and her vision's starting to blur and her legs feel like lead, and she knows she can't keep running for much longer.

She trips suddenly, her knees giving out, and she curses, tears pricking in her eyes as she continues moving, crawling on her hands and knees, desperately trying to get away from the man in the car. She shrieks when she feels his hands on her shoulders, yelling and crying, hoping, _wishing_ that someone would hear her and come help her.

"No, no, no, no," Pervert says soothingly, "you're okay, I'm not gonna hurt you—I promise. Look," he moves his hands off of her, and she scoots back against the brick wall, as far away from him as she can get, "Look," he repeats, "I found you, passed out back there," he points over his shoulder to the alley, "So I moved you to my car. I was gonna take you to the hospital, but then you woke up."

She relaxes slightly—he's telling the truth, and he is still staying a few feet away from her.

"Now," he smiles gently, "Can I have a look at your head? I think you hit it on the wall or something, you're bleeding a little." She raises her hand (ignoring how badly it's shaking) and gingerly touches the back of her head, her fingers covered in sticky red fluid when she pulls them back. "Okay," she whispers, her voice soft and terrified—she still doesn't know how she ended up here in this alley; and that terrifies her.

He moves towards her slowly, pulling a hanky from his pocket and gently pushing it against the wound on her head. She breathes in harshly and winces at the sudden, sharp pain as he does so, biting her lip so she won't cry.

She can't cry.

"So," he smiles at her, "should I drive you to the hospital?" She shakes her head slowly, her hand balling into a tight fist, "No, no, I don't want to go to hospital."

"Okay, okay," he says softly, "You don't have to. Can I ask your name, miss?" She glances down at her hand, frowning a little as she takes in the two, beautiful, familiar, yet completely unknown rings on her finger, "Emma," she whispers, "Emma Swan."

He smiles at her, and she notices, rather off-handedly, that he is really cute when he smiles. "Well, nice to meet you, Emma. I'm Neal."


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi everyone! Happy New Year to you all!**

**I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read, fave, follow and review my story, because I had an _insane_ amount of response to this! You are all awesome :D I love you guys!**

**You were all VERY curious about this chapter, and about the road I would be taking, and I sincerely hope none of you guessed where this is going :D I don't think so, but please, do let me know if you have an inkling about what's going on. **

**Oh, we are not going to find out what happened to our dear Lieutenant and his brother for a while yet :) Just a head's up-you guys won't learn until Emma does... **

**Dum Dum Dum. **

**Now, fair warning, this chapter does contain a dash of Swanthief/Swanfire, whatever the hell they're called, but I tried to limit it, and I tried to shove it all into this chapter, so it'd be over and done with. This is a very transitional chapter, mostly because of the time-jumping, and I hope you guys are looking forward to more.**

**And if anyone is confused... :D Good. You're supposed to be-but fear not, my lovelies, answer will come! **

**Eventually.**

**I can't say when I'll be able to update again, because my mid-terms start this Friday, and I don't think I'll have much time inbetween to write. **

**Apologies for the wait if I can't update before my mid-terms are finished. **

**Please, review like you did last two chapters? That was awesome :D**

**Bye y'all, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p), and hopefully, they'll make the hiatus seem like it's shorter.**

**PPS Thanks to the awesome JustSmileBFF for beta'ing this chapter, and letting me rant to her about everything that is this story :D**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Across Time And Space**

**One month, two weeks and three days later**

Emma stretches languorously, enjoying the wonders of sleeping in a real, soft bed. It's a luxury she hasn't been afforded all that many times in the past month and a half, since Neal had found her in the small alley. She still can't remember why or how she came to be in that alley—the last thing she vaguely remembers before waking up in Neal's backseat was going home, to the orphanage, after another horrid day in school.

She's assuming she finally ran away after graduating (seeing as it's July now, and she can only remember early June—and losing an entire month is still absolutely terrifying), and that she's been working as a waitress or a cashier or something, seeing as she did have some money on her.

She giggles when a warm arm curls around her waist and hauls her back across the bed, into the warm, hard body laying behind her. "It's too early," he whines, "Go back to sleep." She rolls over, her fingers trailing over his features gently. "We'll have to leave soon anyway," she reminds him softly, "We've been here for two days, we're lucky they haven't caught us yet."

He grumbles a little and opens his eyes, blinking at her with his beautiful chocolaty orbs, and her heart squeezes a little. "Come on, Neal," she whines, "I'm bored. We can drive up to New York today—do some _shopping_." She smiles pointedly, and Neal sighs, catching on to what she means immediately.

"Ems, we need to lay low, babe," he taps her nose, "They almost caught us in Minnesota." Emma sighs and pouts, fiddling with the long, silver necklace they nicked back in Minnesota (and that nearly got them arrested) and the two rings she slipped onto the necklace. "I know," she whines, "but we need to do something. We're getting low on funds; and I really don't fancy getting a waitressing job again."

Neal smiles sadly and nods, his fingers curling over the curve of her bare hip, "We'll figure something out. It's gonna be fine. Now," he smirks, and she blushes a little, knowing exactly where he's going, "How're you feeling? Are you sore at all?"

She bites her lip coyly and shakes her head; that had baffled her a little; while she isn't really in love with Neal (she doesn't know how to classify her feelings for him, she just knows it's not all the way to love), she did finally give into him last night, and slept with him for the first time—she hadn't quite pictured her first time in a shabby, run-down motel room on dirty, stained sheets, but she does realize that she was lucky with a lover like Neal.

Besides. It beats the backseat of the Bug.

She'd heard a lot of horror stories about losing one's virginity when she was younger, and one of her older foster sisters had once described it as 'almost being ripped in half before it even felt remotely okay', so she'd been _very_ nervous to let him anywhere near her at first; but it hadn't hurt at all.

Even now, she barely feels any pain at all, aside from her strained thigh muscles.

"No, I feel good," she smiles shyly, "I feel really good." She isn't lying—not really. She does feel good; but there's this little niggle of doubt in the back of her head (and it's been there for the past month and a half) that keeps telling her she's making a mistake, and that she should be looking for something—_someone_.

She ignores it, because honestly—who is she supposed to be looking for?

All she has is Neal, and that'll do for now. She wants a home; a place where she can have the kind of life she never had when she was a child. She even dreams now—silly dreams that don't make a lot of sense, but that make her smile nonetheless.

Dreams of being so in love it consumes her, of waiting impatiently for her husband to come home, of a beautiful wedding—she knows she probably won't get most of those things (especially not if she stays with Neal, that's for sure), but it feels good to feel like she's a normal, seventeen-year-old girl who dreams of a fairytale-like love and life.

Neal leans in to kiss her (completely oblivious that she's not paying attention to him anymore), rolling on top of her as he does, and she kisses him back distractedly, wondering if she'll ever fall in love with Neal like that—she's barely known him a month now, and though she really does have a bit of a crush on him, she really does think it would be quite ridiculous to think she'd love him already.

Neal pulls away, frowning down at her, stroking his fingers through her curls. "You okay, Ems?" She sighs, pushing at him gently, feeling relieved more than anything when he rolls off of her again. "I'm just worried," she sighs, "I hate living like this." She sits up, pulling the sheet up to her chin, and shakes her head. "The whole Bonny and Clyde thing… It's not going to end well, and I just…" She runs her fingers through her hair again and toys with the rings on her necklace.

"Well," Neal sits up too, rubbing his hand over her back soothingly, "Maybe we could…" he hesitates, "Maybe we could sell some stuff… Get an apartment, get jobs.. Start a life." Her jaw sags, and she stares at him, unsure whether or not he's serious.

He'd start a life with her?

"Really?" She swallows thickly, unable to explain why she feels the sudden urge to just run away (screaming too, if she could get away with it), "You'd want that?"

"Yeah," he nods, "I mean.. We could sell your rings—the thing looks like a real diamond, we could get good money for it too." She jerks away from him immediately, curling her fingers around the rings protectively, glaring at Neal angrily, "What the hell? No! I'm not selling them!"

"We could use the money, Emma," he tries to reason—but she doesn't care. She _can't_ get rid of her rings; she can't even fathom the idea of not having them anymore.

"No," she shakes her head, "No, I can't even believe you'd bring that up. No. It's not going to happen." She jumps off the bed and grabs the first item of clothing she finds—Neal's shirt—running her fingers through her hair.

She can't explain why she's so angry about this, but she _is_, and she can't even look at Neal right now.

"Okay," Neal sighs behind her, and she can hear him get up, approach her, but she refuses to turn around to look at him. She's angry and confused and scared and she just needs more time to process _everything._

He wants to start a life with her, and she doesn't even know if she wants to stay with him longer than a few more weeks.

"Emma," he says softly, grabbing her arm softly, turning her to face him slowly, "Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." She sighs, her resistance fading a little, and she looks up at him slowly. "Yeah," she murmurs, "me too. I didn't mean to overreact." He nods, smiling softly, his thumb stroking her cheek gently.

"You're so beautiful, Emma," he whispers, and she feels heat rise to her cheeks, looking down briefly, trying to ignore how his words make her feel flattered and terrified at the same time. "You're not so bad yourself," she whispers cheekily, trying to sound airy and unaffected.

He grins at her, shaking his head, tapping her nose playfully, "Don't make this about me. You're beautiful." He smiles at her fondly, her heart stuttering at the look in his eyes.

His fingers wave in her hair as he leans in slowly. "I love you, Emma," he whispers against her lips, his lips are on hers before she can respond, before she can register the words he just said—and she's not sure how to respond, or what she's supposed to do.

He loves her.

Her heart squeezes almost painfully, and she gasps—which Neal seems to take as an invitation to deepen the kiss. And maybe it is, she thinks, kissing him back eagerly, languidly. Maybe he knows she doesn't know how to say the words back without breaking her own heart; maybe he just knows her.

It's a terrifying notion, but she can't help it—it's the only thing that makes sense. He barely even gave her the time to take a breath before he kissed her. If he'd expected her to say it back, he would've waited, right?

Her fingers clench in his hair, and she's sure it has to hurt a little, but she's just …

He loves her.

How can he love her?

"Neal," she breathes, her heart thudding loudly in her chest—so loudly, she's surprised he doesn't hear it. She doesn't know what she's supposed to say, and that scares her more than she cares to admit. "I—" she breathes, shaking her head lightly, her fingers tightening on his shirt, "I don't... I mean, I—"

Neal swallows thickly, resting his forehead against hers, "You don't have to say it back, babe. I just... I just needed to tell you." She nods shakily, tilting her head to press one more kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry," she breathes against his lips, "I just... we barely know each other."

"Well," he smiles sheepishly, "I do anyway. And I mean it. We could do it, you know. Make ourselves a home." There's a soft, tiny little voice in the back of her head, telling her that, maybe, just maybe, staying with Neal isn't such a bad idea.

Maybe they _could_ find themselves a home.

Together.

She's not in love with him; she just isn't.

But maybe she could be—he already loves her; it'd be a safe choice.

"Is this really what you want?" She whispers, "Because I'm not selling my rings, I can't—and we don't have anything else, so—" He cuts her off, shaking his head. "I—I may have stolen a case of watches a while ago.. I never fenced them, but I could now—I still have them. It's worth twenty grand, _easy_." Her eyes widen, and she swallows thickly.

"Really?" she breathes, "We're doing this?"

His smile is bright and slightly awed, and he nods eagerly. "Yeah. Wherever you want. We can go anywhere. Start over."

"Start over," she repeats slowly, nervously, "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds awesome."

.

.

.

**A month later**

She's stupid.

She is _so_ stupid.

How could she have fallen for it?

She stares up at the dull, concrete grey ceiling, internally furious at herself, going over every little detail of the past three months, again questioning how on earth she could have been so insanely, horrifyingly _stupid_.

She shouldn't have trusted him.

He was a thief.

Of course he didn't love her. He'd barely known her.

But she'd fallen for it anyway—she'd trusted him, fallen into his arms, into his bed _far_ too easily—she'd been so desperate for some form of affection, she had refused to see all the signs that something might be off.

He'd insisted she get the watches, in case they were still looking for him, insisted on fencing them by himself, _giving _her one of the watches.

How could she not have seen it?

There had been no home; no starting over—all that had been waiting for her was a cop, insisting she was the one who stole the watches; after all, she _was_ wearing one of them.

She'd been tried and convicted as an adult, seeing as her eighteenth birthday was only a few months away, and sentenced to twelve months in a female correctional institution.

She has nothing.

Well…

She closes her eyes briefly, desperately pushing back the tears that are burning in her eyes, and reflexively reaches for her necklace… But it's not there.

All of her possessions have been taken the moment she walked through the door, and though the kind woman at the desk has promised her she would make sure the necklace would be placed in a safe place until she got out, it leaves her feeling naked, empty.

She glances down at the small, white, almost inconsequential stick in her lap, her breath shuddering and shaking, unable to fully realize what this means.

_'+'._

_'Positive'._

_'Pregnant'._

She really wishes she could refute it. That she could just shrug it off and say it's not true, that it doesn't exist—but it does.

She's already been escorted to the prison hospital ward, where the doctor confirmed that she's pregnant.

She just…

She can't even wrap her head around the _idea_.

She can't reconcile herself with the idea that there's a tiny little person growing inside of her, half hers, half Neal's.

She cringes at how stupid she was; she'd only slept with him once (unprotected too, as if that on itself hadn't been stupid enough); and now…

Now she's in jail, doing time for something she didn't do, pregnant to a boot.

She can't raise a baby—she won't. She won't even be done serving her time yet by the time the baby's born.

Her eyes flicker down to the purple pamphlet the doctor had given her.

'_Adoption. A family solution.'_

.

.

.

**Portland, Maine, Starbucks, 2006  
_(roughly five years later)_**

Emma Swan is absolutely exhausted.

She's spent the entire night up, chasing her mark, who'd been elusive, but not elusive enough—she'd finally caught him and turned him over to the authorities an hour ago, and she is in _desperate_ need of coffee before she crashes the Bug into a lamppost.

Or before she falls asleep and drives herself off a pier or something.

Yeah… She'd prefer it if that doesn't happen.

"What can I get you, Miss?" A perky, bottle-blonde, teenage girl asks her, her brown eyes wide and expectant as she stares at Emma, patiently waiting for an answer (Emma nearly wants to take a picture; this is the only Starbucks she's ever been to that isn't at all busy or crowded or filled with impatient pushy customers). "A white chocolate mocha to go, please," she orders. "With cinnamon on top," she adds as an afterthought, running her fingers through her hair tiredly.

She only needs to wait for a few minutes to get her coffee, and she swears to God—she loves this place already—she'll definitely look into moving here if she moves again. She sips her coffee and scrolls through the messages on her phone absent-mindedly as she walks out the door, taking a deep, grateful breath of fresh air—

And then she collides with someone, sending everything she's holding flying, her coffee spilling onto the sidewalk. She winces when her back connects with the hard, cold, unforgiving stone ground, groaning slightly in agony as someone else's body lands on top of hers.

She opens her eyes to meet the bluest pair of eyes she's ever seen—it takes her breath away for a moment, before she realizes their position, and groans slightly. "Ow," she breathes, ignoring the way her body seems intent on melting into his. Their legs are tangled together, his chest pressing heavily on hers and his face unnervingly close to hers.

God, he's handsome too.

Fuck. Her. Life.

"God, I'm so sorry," Tall-Dark-And-Handsome exclaims, scrambling to his feet and offering her a hand—she eyes him suspiciously for a long moment before taking it—and pulling her back to her feet. "Are you alright, lass?" He asks, concern lacing through every syllable he speaks, and she wants to curse her own luck, because.. God damn it.

Irish?

He just had to be Irish.

She sighs and bends down, picking up her phone and purse, dusting off her jacket and eyeing her spilled coffee with a small pout. "I'm fine," she finally replies when she realizes he's still staring at her, his eyes wide and so goddamned _blue_. "I'll live," she adds, sending him a smile that she doesn't really mean, because he made her spill her coffee.

She. Will. Not. Pout.

Her breathing hitches in her throat when he takes a single step closer to her and strokes a lock of hair from her forehead, and _fuck_.

Who the hell does he think he is?

"I am too sorry, lass," he says softly, his proximity and voice and everything making her shiver lightly. "Please," he smiles charmingly (devilishly might actually work better for him, she contemplates silently), "Allow me to reimburse you." She frowns, slightly confused by his words, but he smirks—yeah, definitely devilishly—and nods towards the spilled cup of coffee on the sidewalk, "Your coffee, darling," he clarifies, "Least I can do is get you a new one."

She briefly considers turning him down—he's one of the dangerous ones; a handsome man who _knows_ he's handsome and charming; she's stayed away from those for a long time, for very good reason—but she _really _wants more coffee.

So when he opens the door for her and lets her walk in first, she just rolls her eyes (it might've been gentleman-like if he hadn't been smirking) and shakes her head, walking straight up to the counter again, where the girl just swoons when Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome tells her to get whatever she wants. She checks him out when he walks away to pay for the drinks (she's just human and he's _very _attractive; she's been celibate for a while, but that doesn't mean she's blind) and chuckles to herself. '_It's just coffee_,' she tells herself firmly_, 'What's the worst that can happen_?'

It's not until she wakes up the next morning to find a heavy arm wrapped around her waist and a warm, strong chest pressed against her bare back that she realizes she's in trouble.

He pulls her back against his chest a little more, his lips brushing her shoulder.

She nearly moans.

Yup. She's in deep, _deep_ trouble.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi everyone! Quick update between mid-terms... **

**I love everyone, and I want to say welcome to all new readers, and thank you for reading my little story :) Now, this is a transitional chapter, plot will start up again (in more detail) next chapter. **

**I stayed up late so I could finish this for you guys, so cross your fingers I won't fall asleep while in study hall, my mom and teacher will kill me, and I will not be able to finish this story. **

**Ah, what a tragedy that would be. **

**Apologies for the wait if I can't update again before my mid-terms are finished. **

**Please, review like you did last couple of chapters? That was awesome :D**

**Bye y'all, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p), and hopefully, they'll make the hiatus seem like it's shorter.**

**PPS Thanks to the awesome JustSmileBFF for beta'ing this chapter, and letting me rant to her about everything that is this story :D**

- **Revised A/N 13/01/2014 -**

**Hi, just wanted to let you guys know, I edited the two times where Emma refers to Killian as 'Killian' out, because no, her memories are not bleeding through.. It was a typo that excaped both my and my beta's notice... Their memories aren't coming back. Not yet :p Our beloved Captain will be stuck as Colin Brody for a while yet. **

**As for the questions HOW he came to be Colin... Well :p You should read the chapter again. There's clues all over it :) Do not despair though, answers will be given (some of them anyway) in the next chapter :D Okay, I gotta get back to studying, but thanks to everyone who has reviewed/faved/followed/read so far! I love you all!**

**Xx Annaelle**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Across Time And Space**

**Portland, Maine, The Salty Dog's Bar & Inn, 2006  
(_Four days later_)**

"How about that one?" She trails her fingers over the faint scar on his cheek, smirking at the face he makes. He catches her hand and smirks at her, shaking his head. "I was seven, and my brother and I were chasing…" he shrugs, trailing his fingers over her heated, naked skin, "I don't quite recall what, but we were chasing something. I tripped, landed myself on barbed wire."

She chuckles at the mental image that provides, shaking her head—she has no idea why she's still here, with him, in bed, after four days (she's lying—the sex alone would have been earth-shattering enough for her to come begging for more), but she does like it.

She likes the feeling of normalcy that surrounds them, and she knows that, deep down, he does too.

She likes that she knows so much about him already; she knows his name is Colin Brody, that he and his brother moved to a small coast town here in Maine when he was in high school, and that he was desperate to get as far away from said town as he possibly could after his brother and his brother's girlfriend died in a car accident.

A car accident that cost him his entire family and his left hand.

She knows he's been stuck here in Portland for five years, and that he wants nothing more than to travel through the entire country, but simply can't afford it. She knows that the biting sarcasm, the flirting and the witty remarks are his armor as much as they are for her; and she knows that he knows as much about her too.

Most importantly, she knows it scares the hell out of her.

_He _scares the hell out of her.

"My turn, love," he drawls, snapping her from her thoughts, trailing his fingers down from her throat, between her breasts, over her belly button, before coming to rest on the faint scar that spans across her stomach—her heart skips a beat and she winces, because _of course_ he would ask about that one. He couldn't ask about the one she got when she fell from a tree when she was six, or the one on her elbow, where she burned herself against the stove.

No.

Of course he couldn't.

He wanted to ask about the one that hurt her most of all.

"It's from a caesarian," she whispers, looking down to avoid his blue eyes, knowing he'll see right through her. His silence is deafening, and when he does finally speak, his voice is soft, and almost unbearably concerned. "You had a child?"

She nods, still not looking at him, and whispers, "I gave him up for adoption. I couldn't take care of him, and I didn't want—" She swallows thickly and shakes her head. "Never mind. I don't even know why I told you."

His fingers are warm and rough against her skin, and though she probably could have resisted if she really wanted to, she allows him to push her chin up, so he can meet her eyes. "Because we have something, darling."

She snorts, pulling her armor right back into place, because he is getting a little too close for comfort, and glares at him. "Yeah," she spits, "It's called a one nightstand." His eyes darken, and she's not sure if she actually got to him or not, but his voice is gruff and heavy when he replies, just as heatedly, "This stopped being a one nightstand four days ago, Swan."

She raises an eyebrow at him, determined not to let him get to her, and smirks, "I'm sorry, what is it then? Being fuckbuddies?" To his credit, he does not even cringe when she continues to insult him, merely waiting for her to finish. Only when she's sitting up, the sheets pooling around her waist, breathing heavily, does he move to sit up too, regarding her calmly. "Are you quite done now, darling?"

She glares at him, but nods nonetheless and bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the adorable frown that wrinkles his forehead.

Damn him.

How dare he make her smile when she's trying to be mad at him?

"I don't know what we are, Emma," she swallows thickly when he uses her actual name—it sounds odd, because the only time he calls her Emma is when they're having sex, and it is _very_ distracting, to say the least, to hear him say it now—, "but it is there. I have not so much as looked at a woman in a long time, love, but you… I cannot get enough of you."

She chokes a little, because he's starting to sound like Neal—even worse, at least Neal knew her a little longer than four days before professing his love to her—and it scares the hell out of her. "And this," she gestures between them roughly, "has nothing to do with you wanting to leave Maine as fast as you can, does it?"

The look on his face makes her wince slightly, but she can't help it.

Stuff like this doesn't happen to her.

Men don't fall all over themselves to get into her good graces and her bed. Colin's the only one in five years that's been trying to stay for longer than one night, and call her a pessimist, but she can't help but feel like there's more to it than a so-called connection they feel.

"Try something new, darling," he finally says, his eyes dark and clouded with hurt, "It's called trust." She bites her lip harshly and, without thinking, spits, "I did. Trust landed me in jail—I'm not stupid enough to fall for it twice."

The surprise on his face makes her want to slap herself—_Way to go, Emma, another well-kept secret out the window_—and she turns away, refusing to see the pity in his eyes; she knows it'll be there.

It always is.

"Fine," he says softly, "Then leave me here. I will find my own way to ... Boston, was it? And I will find you there—and then, you won't have to question whether I am with you to escape or not; I will have done so on my own." She closes her eyes briefly, desperately trying to find a way to hide from him, to stop him from seeing right through the walls that kept her safe all this time, trying to keep herself from falling for it.

She can't risk letting him in.

"Who said I'd give you a shot even if you came to Boston on your own?" Her voice sounds cold and harsh even to her own ears, and she feels him tense slightly, before he slides his arm around her waist again, tugging her to him before she can protest, his lips hot and wet against her neck.

"Well, I'll just have to persuade you otherwise," he chuckles, pushing her down on the bed and capturing her lips in a searing kiss that has her legs just fall open for him—she has to admit; she could definitely get used to his methods of persuasion.

.

.

.

"Where do you think you're going, love?"

She freezes, halfway between the bed and the door, closing her eyes—_of course_ he would wake up when she's trying to sneak out.

She pulls his button down shirt closed a little more—fastening the only two buttons that were still left hadn't really helped to cover her up—and turns back to look at him, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at the way he's lounging across the bed, the sheets riding low on his hips…

She licks her lips slightly at the _delicious_ sight he makes, before scolding herself and shaking the unwanted feeling off. "To the bathroom," she finally replies, raising her eyebrows at him, "You got a problem with that, Irish?" His devilish smirk grows larger, and as much as she'd like to claim she isn't affected by him anymore now that she's had him (several times)…

She knows neither of them would believe it anyway.

"Not if you join me again after," he chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she can't stop a laugh from falling from her lips—he's absolutely ridiculous; and the worst part is that she actually finds herself liking it too.

"Now why would I do that?" She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorpost casually, smirking at the currently _very_ naked man in her motel bed.

"Oh, love," he chuckles, "I'll make it worth your while." She doesn't doubt that whatsoever—if anything, he's definitely made it worth skipping out on nearly a week of work, but she has to get back to real life (and away from him for a little while), so she tells herself to man up and sighs. "No can do, Irish. I gotta get back to real life."

His eyes darken, and she bites her lip, because she doesn't like this anymore than he does—reality means leaving, going back to Boston, leaving him here, and something deep inside of her protests against that notion.

She doesn't want to let go of the normalcy, the company.

"Come with me," she blurts, ignoring the small voice that screams at her in her head, "To Boston," she adds when he just stares at her, "I mean… Not like we'd be together but—" she chokes and continues, "We have something. You were right, we do, and I… I don't want to be with anyone, but I—" she looks up at him slowly, "I could use a friend. And I," she shrugs shakily, watching him move, getting up from the bed, "I have a spare bedroom. So, if you want—"

He cuts her off with a soft kiss, and she melts into his arms despite her resolve not to give into him again. "You would want me there, love?" he breathes against her lips, the tender, vulnerable note in his voice making her shiver.

"Just as a friend," she whispers in reply, "you have to pay rent and everything." He chuckles and nods, pressing several soft, quick kisses all over her face, and it tickles like crazy, making her smile and giggle like a little girl. "Hmm," she mumbles against his lips, "Colin," she shivers when she feels the hard evidence of just how much he appreciates the gesture pressing against her stomach, "just friends," she moans, though her arms rise to wrap around his neck of their own accord, pulling him closer despite her own protests.

"One last time, love," he pleads, grinding against her. "Just one more time."

She tries to remember why this isn't a good idea, but she can't—so she just gives in, letting him sweep her up and carry her off into the bathroom.

Just one last time.

.

.

.

**Boston, Massachusetts, Emma & Colin's Apartment, 2009  
_(Three years later)_**

"Ugh, Colin," Emma whines as she kicks the door closed, stumbling into the dark apartment, her arms loaded with heavy grocery bags, "I told you," she says loudly, glaring in disgust at the clothes spread all over the apartment, "I don't mind you bringing any of your slutty little friends here, but for God's sake, kick them out before I get home, will you?"

"I didn't bloody bring anyone here, Swan," Colin's rough I-have-a-hangover-please-don't-yell-at-me voice emerges from his dark bedroom, "I've told you that before. I just made a mess when I got home, love. I'll clean it up later."

She rolls her eyes at that, shaking her head as she starts putting the groceries away—Colin still tends to go overboard sometimes, drinking himself into a stupor, leaving him unable to do anything but moan for two days after.

It's not like she doesn't get it—she really does—but she still maintains that him being a bartender and therefore having access to free booze is a bad idea. His alcohol tolerance is high, but she's still worried that one day, she'll get a call from the hospital, telling her he's been admitted for alcohol poisoning.

He only drinks when there is something that sets him off—something that brings back painful memories or feelings he doesn't want to deal with—but when he does drink, he drinks more than she drinks in an entire month.

"Okay," she sighs, running her fingers through her hair when she finishes putting everything away, kicking her shoes off before making her way into Colin's room, "What was it this time?"

He's lying face down on his bed, on top of the sheets, only wearing his boxers and socks, and she can't help the chuckle that falls from her lips at the sight of him. "Sure," he grumbles into his pillow, "laugh at my misery."

She smiles softly, moving to sit on the bed with him, stroking his messy hair softly. "Are you okay, Colin?" She hasn't seen him like this in nearly a year, and it worries her slightly, because she'd believed he was getting better. He moves a little, resting his head on her thigh while she continues stroking his hair.

"Aye, love," he murmurs quietly, "I'll be fine now." He nuzzles his nose against her leg and she smiles as his scruff—he hasn't shaved in a few days—tickles her skin through her tights. She sighs and shifts, so she can sit comfortably against the headboard, Colin's head fully resting on her lap now. "Are you going to tell me about it?" She asks softly, leaning her head back against the wooden headboard.

"It matters no more, darling," he grumbles, his fingers playing idly with the hem of her skirt—her lie detector immediately goes off, and she does not need to look at him to know that he is lying.

It matters to him.

"Colin," she admonishes him softly, "You know you can tell me. I won't judge."

And she won't. They've been roommates for three years now, and awkward as it was in the first few weeks, it's almost as natural as breathing by now.

They work well together, and she had been right; he _is_ a really good friend.

She had not been right though, when she had said they would be no more than friends. They weren't, exactly, more than that, but she did not sleep with anyone but him—she didn't see the point of going after random strangers who could have God knows what disease when she had a perfectly good and very much willing man at home.

She knows he's not nearly as exclusive with her as she is with him, but they're not in a relationship—by her own choice too—so she doesn't comment on it.

"Swan, please," he moans softly, "Leave it. You do not want to hear this—not yet, love." She frowns and tugs on his hair a little harder than necessary (ignoring his loud moan of protest), to get him to look at her. He sits up slowly, his hair an absolute mess, his lower lip protruding a pout. "Damn woman," he exclaims, "was that necessary?"

"Yes," she replies heatedly, "You're not telling me something, and I'm worried, okay?" Her expression softens, and she raises her hand to stroke his cheek, "I'm worried about _you_. You haven't drunk this much in… Forever. What happened?"

His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows thickly, and she's suddenly a little apprehensive, unsure of what to expect—obviously, it's something important to him.

"I—" he sighs and shakes his head, "I saw you… On a date, last night." He looks down, his cheeks flushing, "I … I may have responded slightly irrationally to seeing you with another man, love." Her eyes widen in surprise, and something very akin to butterflies flutters in her stomach at the intense look in his eyes.

"I—" she shakes her head, "Colin, don't—" He shakes his head, moving to cup his cheek with his good hand, "Emma," he whispers—and damn him, what happened to the pet names?—, "I love you, Swan. I didn't want to say, for fear you did not reciprocate my feelings, but Emma… I needed to say it. I cannot risk losing you to another man simply because I was a coward."

She stiffens, fear coiling deep in the pit of her stomach.

He didn't.

No, he can't have—

"No, Colin, you're hung-over," she shakes her head desperately, her thundering in her chest, "You're being crazy—you don't love me—you can't, you …" She's rambling, and she's probably not making any sense, but she hates that he actually _said_ it, because she can't pretend now.

She can't pretend he never said anything.

She can't pretend she doesn't know why they have those tiny, sweet moments that everyone else would regard as loving gestures—she hates that she's so terrified that she's making him feel like she doesn't care about him, that she doesn't feel something for him too—but she _does_.

She really does, but she is too scared to say it, and she just _can't_ get over the near-paralyzing fear that if she tells him, if she really would say those three little words, he'd have the power break her, because she _does_, she does love him, and that gives him something Neal never had, and she just...

She's not ready to trust him that fully just yet.

_A man in love doesn't sleep with other women_, she rationalizes_, trying to convince herself, if he really was in love with me, he wouldn't be sleeping around._

She tells him so, and winces at the pure and unadulterated hurt that fills his beautiful blue eyes, flinching when he pulls away from her, "Do you honestly not know me at all, Swan? I have not touched nor looked at another woman since I met you."

"I can't be with you like that," she says shakily, but determined.

This is for the best.

She can't be with anyone—he'll get tired of her—he'll leave her—he'll break her.

She can't take the risk that she's wrong about him.

"Oh love," he shakes his head with an exasperated smile, "We are already together, Emma. We have just not said it yet—I have been with none but you, and I know you have not been with another either. Emma, we have been in a relationship for three years already; the only difference would be that we acknowledge it."

She opens her mouth to refute that, to fight back, to say _something_, but he's right, and they both know it too. "Emma," he approaches her slowly, his wide and sincere and too goddamn _blue, _"Emma, love, please. Just… Give me a change. Give _us_ a chance. Please."

His hand is on her cheek, he's unnervingly close and he's so _sincere_.

She needs to say no.

She has to.

She looks up at him through teary eyes, her lower lip trembling softly. "Okay," she breathes, her heart skipping a beat at his brilliant, radiant smile, "Okay."

.

.

.

**Boston, Massachusetts, Emma & Colin's Apartment, 2011  
_(Two years later)_**

"You were absolutely brilliant, love," Colin slips his arm around her waist, "and you look positively delicious." He punctuates the words with a swift kiss on her cheek. She smiles and leans into him, whining playfully, "My feet hurt. I wanna get home so I can take these damn heels off." She looks down at her dress and sighs, "Bastard spilled red wine on my dress."

Colin chuckles and presses a kiss to her temple. "You made him pay, darling. Bloody hot to see you beat him up too." She rolls her eyes and elbows him lightly as they make their way up the stairs, grinning at his painful grunt and muttered curse.

"You're lucky it's your birthday, Swan," he grumbles under his breath, holding their apartment door open for her (she loves that tiny little gentleman streak of his), taking the grocery bag from her hands once they're inside, so she can kick off her heels, for which she is _inherently _grateful.

She hears him scuffle around in the kitchen, and chuckles when she hears him curse several times, before everything goes quiet.

Too quiet.

"Colin?" She calls from the hall, "What are you up to?"

Her stomach sinks a little when he doesn't respond, and she walks to the kitchen suspiciously, gasping a little at the sight—there's several little tea lights strewn across the countertops, and a single cupcake with a pink star candle on top is sitting in the middle of the table, her boyfriend standing right next to it with a nervous smile.

"Happy birthday, love," he says as she walks towards him slowly, still trying to take in that he actually wants to celebrate with her—it's late and they're both tired, and … She smiles when he lifts the cupcake and winks at her. "Make a wish, darling—" He smirks and adds, "And dirty little wishes are absolutely allowed, birthday girl."

She laughs a little, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at him before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes as she tries to think of something.

A wish.

Something she wants more than anything.

She has Colin—she loves him (yes, she _is_ able to say it to him now, but only when she's sure no one else can hear them) and he loves her, and he's her family.

Family.

She smiles sadly and thinks about the tiny little baby boy she gave up.

Thinks of her parents, wondering where they are, who they could be.

That's what she wants; she wants to know where the rest of her family is—where her son is, her parents, maybe even more family.

She wants a real family.

Still smiling, she makes her wish and blows out the candle, before plucking the cupcake from Colin's fingers and putting it back on the table as she wraps her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I love you," she breathes, shivering when his fingers brush over the bare skin on the back of her neck and shoulders, "So much."

He merely smiles and waves his fingers in her hair, pulling her lips back to his. Slowly, she breaks the kiss and presses her forehead against Colin's as they stand locked in their intimate embrace. His hands have drifted down to her hips while hers have found their way into his hair.

"Emma?" He whispers, opening his eyes to look at her. "Hmm?" Her brain has melted—it does that sometimes, when he kisses her.

She also isn't sure if she's able to communicate in English anymore.

Colin smirks and presses a kiss to her nose. "Emma, love… Marry me?"

At that her eyes do indeed snap open, filled with startling amounts of love, confusion, and hope.

Holy crap.

Did he just… _Propose_?

What?

"I love you, my darling, my Emma," he whispers, "So, so much. You… You made me want to live and love again. Marry me—pledge yourself to me for the rest of our lives, and I'll do the same. Be mine."

"But," she chokes, "But you—we only—I mean—What?" she breathes, her mind unable to process the words Colin has just uttered. He laughs and presses another short, soft kiss to her lips—effectively destroying every thought she has been able to form—and whispers, "Marry me," again.

She pulls back to look at him, stunned into silence. He's done what no one else has ever been able to do before him—he has rendered her completely speechless.

"You want to marry me?" She whispers in disbelief, still unable to wrap her head around the thought of being Colin's wife.

He nods presses her lips to his softly. "I do," he mutters against her lips, "I want to be with you. I want to be yours as much as you are mine. Marry me."

She can't suppress the delighted smile that fights its way onto her lips, and she nods slowly, whispering, "Okay, I'll marry you. I'll be yours."

She actually squeals (but she'll deny it if anyone asks) as she jumps him, her lips crashing on his, her hands diving into his hair and her legs wrapping around his waist as she kisses him wildly, giving herself enough hope to think that maybe, someday, she'll be able to fully believe him when he says he loves her.

One day, she'll be able to give herself to him completely, without holding back, without being afraid he'd break her.

"Wait," she drags her lips away from his, pouting a little when he sets her down on the kitchen island, "Don't I get a ring?" He smiles sheepishly and strokes his fingers past her collarbone, tugging on the silver chain of her necklace. "I thought you might want to use this one," he fingers the silver, diamond ring, "But I could not swipe it from you without you noticing."

"Oh," she breathes, looking down at the ring with a bemused smile, "Yeah. I actually would really like to wear that ring." He smiles brightly and leans in to kiss her again, when they're interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Emma frowns at Colin and pouts, "Did you expect company?" He shakes his head, running his fingers through his already messy hair (she blames her own roaming fingers for that one) and frowns towards the front door. "No, not at all," he finally says, helping her down from the counter (and being more than a little reluctant to help her pull her dress back down so she looks at least a little decent).

She sighs and heads to the front door, raising an eyebrow at the ten, maybe eleven-year-old boy standing on her doorstep. "Can I help you?" She asks, leaning against the door a little as Colincomes up behind her.

"Uh," the boy looks at Colin uncertainly, "Yeah… Are you Emma Swan?" Colin smiles and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Not for long," he singsongs in her ear, earning himself another elbow in the ribs and an eye roll. "Yeah," she nods, turning back to the kid, "And you are?"

He smiles brilliantly, his sea green eyes sparkling, "I'm Henry. I'm your son."


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone! Quick update between mid-terms... **

**On the bright side, ladies and gents, I only have four more midterms to go... On the less bright side, I do have to pass someone of them or my mother will skin me alive. I have started responding to reviews (but I'll suck at it, so to those I didn't get to yet, THANK YOU SO MUCH, I love you all :D), but I want to thank the anonymous reviewer/faves/follows too. **

**We are not going through everything in season one, I warn you, and not everything in season two or three either. BUT, I would like to hear your favorite scenes from season one, and which ones you'd like to see in here. **

**Is the Colin mystery a little clearer? Is it not? There is LOTS more to come, my lovelies. **

**Okay, I must get back to studying for my Greek and Roman Archaeology mid term, wish me luck! ****Apologies for the wait if I can't update again before my mid-terms are finished.**

**Please, review like you did last couple of chapters? That was awesome :D**

**This chapter picks up right where the last one let off, btw :)**

**Bye y'all, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

**PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon (and they make me write faster :p), and hopefully, they'll make the hiatus seem like it's shorter.**

**PPS This is unbeta'd, and any and all mistakes are mine. Please, do forgive me :)**

**Xx Annaelle**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Across Time And Space**

Before they can respond to that bombshell—Colin is staring openmouthed, and she's not quite sure how to respond either—the kid, Henry, ducks under her arm and walks into the apartment like he owns the place. "Do you have any juice?" he asks, ignoring the two adults who stare after him, both completely baffled by the situation.

Emma opens her mouth to say _something_, but closes it again immediately, one look at Colin telling her that he, too, is at a loss of words. They both stare wordlessly as Henry rummages in the fridge and pulls a bottle of OJ out, hopping onto the barstool and drinking for a long moment before he turns back to them, his eyes narrowing at Colin. "So… Are you my dad?"

Emma finally snaps out of her stupor and shakes her head, her heart clenching as she protests, "Look, kid, I don't have a son. Where are your parents?" Colin's good hand is resting on the small of her back, and she can't even begin to tell him how good it feels—she needs his support.

He knows about the baby, the adoption, Neal…

But to expect him to actually handle it, like this? She half-expected him to withdraw his proposal and run away screaming when the kid announced who he was.

Henry smiles and shakes his head at her. "Ten years ago, did you give up a baby for adoption?" She just stares at him, unable to process _anything_ that happened in the past twenty minutes, from her boyfriend proposing to the kid showing up on her doorstep. Henry—that was his name, right?—takes her silence as an admission and shrugs, "That was me. So, are you?" He looks at Colin again, "My dad?"

She doesn't even listen to whatever Colin says in response—she needs… She needs to be alone.

Jesus, she really needs a moment.

"Give me a minute," she mumbles, stumbling into the bathroom before either of them can protest, locking the door behind her. She leans heavily against the sink, staring ahead blankly, firmly telling herself to stay calm and to _breathe_.

The kid's ten, so obviously, there's a family somewhere—she nods, she'll just… Ask him where his parents are and tell him to go back to them. She can't handle the onslaught of emotions that stirred up at her the moment she laid eyes on him—she can't handle more emotional vulnerability.

Letting Colin in is still hard for her, and though she loves him (she really does), she still believes, somewhere, deep down, that he'll just leave her in the end.

She can't deal with Henry too—he'll be a constant reminder of the biggest mistake she ever made, and she knows he deserves a better mother than one who can only remember how much it hurt when she found out she was having him.

She jumps a little when a soft knock on the door interrupts her thoughts, staring at the door with wide eyes as Colin's voice drifts through the wood. "Emma? Darling, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she calls back, pushing away from the counter and turning to look in the mirror, her hands shaking when she runs them through her hair. "I just need a minute." He's quiet for a moment, and she almost believes he's left her to it when his voice rings out again, a little more stubborn this time. "Open the door, love," he nearly orders, "Let me in."

She pouts and shakes her head at her mirror image, before realizing that he can't see her, and that she probably should respond out loud too. "No," she sighs, "Colin, I'm fine."

"Swan," her fiancé (she realizes that it's the first time she's actually thought of him like that, and she really _loves_ the sound of it) growls, "Open the door or I'll kick it in." She will continue to be stubborn—or she _would_, if she hadn't been so sure he was absolutely serious too.

"Fine," she grumbles, flipping the lock and opening the door, avoiding looking him in the eye as much as she can manage in the cramped space. She's not sure what she'll find in his eyes if she does look, and she's not willing to risk it being something bad; something that could damage their relationship. "Emma, look at me," he says softly, and though reluctant, she complies anyway, the feeling of dread and fear in the pit of her stomach growing slightly.

His blue eyes are soft and filled with concern and love and shock (she can't hold that against him, she's still in shock too), and his fingers are warm and soft on her cheek. "It's alright, love," he says slowly, "we just have to step back in there and talk to the lad."

"What is he doing here?" She chokes lightly, curling her fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt, "How on earth did he get here in the first place? How did he find me?"

"That, my love," he strokes his fingers through her hair soothingly, "Is something we need to ask the lad." She sighs and nods against his chest, closing her eyes briefly as she breathes in his scent, relishing in how safe his arms make her feel.

Yeah.

He's right.

She can do this.

She pulls away from him reluctantly, tiptoeing to press a quick to his lips. "I love you," she says softly, "You know that, right?" He chuckles against her lips and nods, "I should hope so, love, you _did_ just consent to marry me." She smiles at the reminder, before taking a deep breath before turning to the door. "Okay," she sighs, "Let's go."

"You know," Henry—_kid, _she reminds herself, _the kid_. _You can't get attached_—starts as soon as they walk out of the bathroom, "we should probably get going."

"Going where?" She says slowly, raising her eyebrows at him and crossing her arms over her chest. "I want you to come home with me," the kid chirps happily, completely disregarding their shocked expressions. "Okay, kid," Emma shakes her head exasperatedly—this is too fucking far—she doesn't need any of this—heading for the phone. "I'm calling the cops."

"I'll tell them you kidnapped me," Henry responds smoothly—_too _smoothly, she notes with a frown. "And they'll believe you because she's your birthmother," Colin deadpans, leaning back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed across his chest and his brows furrowed.

"You're not gonna do that," Emma studies the boy in front of her, looking for any trace of herself or Neal, looking for something she might recognize—recognizing the lie a mile away. Henry raises an eyebrow—and God, she swears he reminds her of Colin, even though she knows that's not possible—and smirks, "Try me."

"You're pretty good," she smiles, shaking her head, "Here's the thing… There's not a lot I'm great at in life—" she ignores her fiancé's loud cough and pointed glare, "—but I have one skill. Let's call it a superpower—I can tell when _anyone_ is lying to me, and you kid, _are_." She clicks the phone back on, having dialed '9' before the kid speaks up, shaking his head.

"Wait—" he uses what she presumes are his best puppy eyes on her—and she has to admit, they're pretty damn good—, "Please don't call the cops. I want you to come home with me, please."

She exchanges a glance with Colin, still unsure what to make of this, and then sighs. "Where's home?"

"Storybrooke, Maine."

She sees Colin freeze from the corner of her eye, and winces at the look of dread on his face—she can't blame him; she knows what living in that town did to him; and she curses her own luck—how is it possible that the kid lives in _that_ little town?

Why on earth that town?

"Really?" she groans softly, "Storybrooke?"

Henry looks from one to the other curiously, obviously confused by their response. "Yeah," he nods slowly. She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs, "Colin, you don't have to come with me—you don't have to go back."

Colin shakes his head before she's even finished, stalking over to stand by her side. "Don't be ridiculous, love, I would not let you go alone. Of course I am coming with you." She opens her mouth to protest, but Henry interrupts them, his voice high and slightly incredulous. "Wait," he's staring at Colin openmouthed, his eyes wide, "You're from Storybrooke?"

"Aye, lad," Colin responds stiffly, his fingers curling into a fist against the small of her back, "I am. I left a long time ago." Emma smiles softly, taking his fake hand in both of hers to offer him some sense of comfort.

"But that's not possible!" Henry exclaims, blushing when both adults stare at him incredulously. "I mean," he stutters, "There's never—you're—" he swallows and shakes his head. "Never mind. Can we go now?" He hops off his chair, heading for the door immediately.

Emma shares a confused, resigned look with Colin and sighs. "Okay," she mumbles, "To Storybrooke."

.

.

.

The ride had been long and slow and slightly uncomfortable, and Emma is _very _relieved when they finally reach Storybrooke—the kid had been talking about fairytales and True Love the entire time, and told her she was supposed to fix every problem in his life and she's just…

She sighs and shakes her head.

She's just really tired.

She glances over to Colin, who's leaning his head against the window, every muscle in his body taunt and tense, and she feels a little bad that he's forced to return to the town he's been running from since before he met her, so she reaches across the gear shift and takes his good hand, squeezing it tightly and offering him a soft smile.

"Okay kid," she says slowly, "How about an address?"

"44 NotTellingYou street," he says with a broad smile that just makes her patience run out completely—she stomps on the break, stopping in the middle of the road, and jumps out of the car, slamming the door behind her, growling in frustration. "Look, kid," she sighs when she's managed to calm herself down a little, "It's been a long night, a really long drive, we're all tired, and it's almost—" She frowns a little as she looks up at the clock tower (she would've sworn it's later), "—eight fifteen?"

Colin gets out of the car too, walking around stiffly to stand by her side. "Come now, lad," he smiles—Emma can tell he's just trying to placate the kid, because it's the fakest, most strained smile she's ever seen on him—, "I'm sure your parents are worried about you too."

Henry studiously ignores him and turns to Emma, his eyes wide and—goddamnit—sincere. "The clock hasn't moved all my life. Time is frozen here." Emma stares at him, not sure what to make of it, when he continues, "The Evil Queen did it, with her curse. She sent everyone from the Enchanted Forest here."

"Okay," Emma drawls, leaning against Colin a little (she's tired, he's warm and comfy—sue her), "The Evil Queen sent a bunch of fairytale characters here?" She can hear the skepticism in her own voice, and she knows Colin can too, but the kid seems completely oblivious. "Yeah," he nods eagerly, "And now they're trapped."

"Frozen in time, stuck in Storybrooke, Maine…" She turns to Colin with a light smiles and kisses his cheek. "I see why you wanted to leave this town behind as soon as you could."

"But it's true," Henry whines, glaring at them, "And I don't know how he left. People don't leave here, or bad things happen." Colin bites his lip and shakes his head, "I hate to break it to you, lad, but bad things happened long before I left Storybrooke."

Henry opens his mouth again—she's not sure she wants to hear what the kid is going to say next—when someone behind them calls out to Henry. A scrawny, though very friendly looking man crosses the street, his dog (a Dalmatian, really?) trailing behind him. She notes how Colin stiffens a little again, but doesn't respond to it, instead choosing to watch the interaction between the kid and the man.

"What are you doing here?" The man asks, and Emma can hear the concern and relief radiating from his voice, and wonders who the man is—he certainly seems to know Henry well enough. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Archie," Henry smiles, bending down to pet the dog. Archie nods a little, his expression relieved. His eyes travel to Emma, and from her to Colin, and his jaw drops a little. "Colin? Colin Brody, is that you?"

Colin shifts uncomfortably, but nods and holds his good hand out, keeping his arm around Emma's waist. "Aye. Good to see you, Archie."

"I'll say," Archie smiles a small bemused smile as he shakes Colin's hand, "It's been forever." He takes in how close he and Emma are standing, and Emma bites her lip, feeling slightly uncomfortable under Archie's scrutiny. "And who's this?"

Colin smiles a little, and Emma's glad to see him relax. "This is Emma," he says, squeezing his arm around her a little tighter, "My fiancé." She smiles politely at the man, shaking his hand too. "We were just giving the kid a ride home," she shrugs, before stepping back, leaning against Colin's chest.

Henry pouts at her and adds, "She's my mom, Archie."

Archie's eyes widen considerably, and all at once, Emma's skin crawls and she just wants to get this over with. "You know where he lives?" she asks curtly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah, sure," Archie nods, his eyes still curious and slightly shocked, "It's, ah, right up Mifflin street. The Mayor's house is the biggest on the block."

"The Mayor?" She raises an eyebrow at the kid, and Colin curses slightly under his breath. "You're Regina's son?" He questions sharply, and Emma wonder briefly about that, but then shakes it off—not the time.

"Maybe," Henry drawls, pouting a little. Emma sighs tiredly and rubs her hand over her forehead, "Okay, kid, get in the car, we gotta get you home. Thanks—" she hesitates, frowning a little when she realizes all she knows about the man is that his first name is Archie.

"Archie Hopper," the man smiles sweetly, "And you're very welcome. Have a good night—and uh," he smiles at Henry, "You be good, Henry. I'll see you Thursday, on your next session." The man turns and continues down the road, the Dalmatian wagging its tail happily as he follows him.

"So," Emma drawls as they all pile back into the car, "That's your shrink?" She glances into the rear view mirror to look at his response.

Henry grumbles. "I'm not crazy."

Colin chuckles and turns in his seat to look at the kid. "We never said you were, lad. He doesn't seem _cursed_, though." Colin shrugs a little and smiles, "He never did. He does look like he's just trying to help you."

"Well, he's the one that needs help. He doesn't remember. None of them do." Henry replies stubbornly. Emma chuckles and shakes his head. "Convenient. Alright, I'll play. Who's he supposed to be?"

"Jiminy Cricket."

"Right, the lying thing," Emma grins, "Thought your nose grew a little bit."

"I'm not Pinocchio!" Henry squeals indignantly, wrinkling his nose as though the mere thought is revolting.

"Of course you're not," Emma rolls her eyes a little. "Because that would be ridiculous."

"So, lad," Colin smiles at her before turning back to Henry, "per your definition, I should be a fairytale character too… Who would I be, lad?"

Henry narrows his eyes at him, pursing his lips in contemplation. "I'm not sure yet. Give me some time to think about it—I'll let you know." Emma smirks at the semi-disappointed look on her fiancé's face as she pulls over in front of the house. "Okay, kid. We're here. Home sweet home."

"Please," Henry pleads, leaning forward between the two front seats, "Don't take me back here—can't I stay with you guys, at the inn or something?"

"Lad," Colin says soothingly, "I'm sure your mother is worried sick about you." Emma nods in agreement, though it does cause a small, uncomfortable knot in her stomach—something she's not all that eager to explore.

"No, she's not," Henry shakes his head, "she's evil."

Emma looks over her shoulder and frowns. "Evil? That's a tad bit extreme, isn't it?" Henry shakes his head stubbornly. "She is," he insists, "She doesn't love me—she only pretends to." Emma sighs and shakes her head, getting out of the car slowly (she's stiff from sitting in the car for so long), wincing a little as she stretches her sore muscles.

"Henry!" A woman sprints down the driveway, her heels clicking loudly against the pavement. She wraps Henry in a tight (and reluctant on Henry's part) hug, before putting both of her hands on his shoulders. "Are you okay? Where were you? What happened?"

"I found my real mom," Henry says harshly, before pushing past her and into the house. Emma sighs and runs her fingers through her hair tiredly. "Nice to meet you, Mayor," she says with an exasperated smile.

"Y—you're Henry's birth mother?" The woman sounds stunned—terrified even—for a long moment before she manages to pull herself together again.

"I'll go check on the lad… Make sure he's alright." Emma jumps a little when the man behind the Mayor speaks up suddenly. He has the same, thick, Irish lilt to his voice as Killian does, though his seems a little more pronounced—he's also the Sherriff.

And sleeping with her son's mother, if the way they look at each other is any indication.

She nearly laughs—the Sherriff and the Mayor; it's _so_ small town America.

"I'm sorry," the Mayor states, plastering a smile on her face that even Emma can tell is fake, "Please, forgive me for my lack of manners, I was very worried about _my_ son. Regina Mills," she offers Emma her hand, "How would like to come in for a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted?"

Emma scratches the back of her neck awkwardly and smiles politely, glancing over to the car, where Colin is still sitting on the hood. "Thanks, but I think we both just really want to go to the inn and get some sleep for the night—we do need to go back to Boston before Monday."

"We?" Regina's eyebrows raise, and Emma smiles tightly—she has no doubt Regina would know exactly who Colin is, and she's not sure Colin wants everyone to know he came back. "Yeah," she nods slowly, "me and my… Fiancé." Regina nods, her smile a little strained, and says, "Well, I'm sure Granny will be more than happy to rent you two a room for the night."

Emma nods and sighs, "Well, goodnight then."

She turns her back to Regina, trying to shake the odd, uneasy feeling the woman gives her and walks right into Colin arms, resting her head against his chest. "God, I'm so tired," she mumbles, feeling his chest rumbles against her cheek as he chuckles quietly.

"Let's go to the inn then, love," he says softly, rubbing her back, "It's not far—right up Main Street." She nods against his chest and mumbles, "Can you drive?" She's not sure if she can drive without crashing the car into the nearest lamppost.

He chuckles and helps her get into the passenger seat before running around the car and getting in himself. He glances over his shoulder and smiles, shaking his head lightly. "The lad is clever, love," he chuckles, "he left his book in the backseat—we need to stick around to give it back to him." Emma smiles tiredly and nods, her eyes fluttering a little.

She's just _so_ tired.

Colin drives them to the inn in under three minutes and opens her door for her—her heart flutters a little at the sweet gesture—and escorts her in, smiling winningly at the old woman behind the counter, who squeals and fusses over them as soon as she realizes who he is.

"So, how long would you like to stay?" She smiles, "And do you want a forest view or a view on the square? Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square but, as friends do, I'll wave it," The woman smiles broadly at Colin, and Emma smirks a little at the blush on his cheeks—he really is adorable sometimes.

"Square's fine," Colin smiles, "We just need a bed, Granny—it's been a long drive." Granny nods and scribbles something down, "Shall I put it in your name, Colin, dear?"

"Aye," Colin nods as Emma leans against him, her arms sliding around his waist as she rests his head on his shoulder, "Colin and Emma Brody."

"Emma," an accented voice behind them startles them, waking Emma up a little more again, "What a lovely name." Emma bites her lip uncomfortably and smiles tersely, very much aware of her tense fiancé—he'd frozen as soon as the well-dressed man with the cane entered the inn. "Thanks," she says slowly.

Granny frowns at the man and hands him a roll of bills. "It's all there."

"Yes, yes," the man smiles, and it makes every hair on Emma's body stand on end, "Of course it is, dearie. Thank you. You enjoy your stay, _Emma_." His eyes land on Colin, and she squeezes his hand tightly. "_Lovely_ to see you again, Mr. Brody. Welcome back."

At that, he turns on his heel and limps out of the inn, leaving the three people in the inn in an uncomfortable silence.

"Who's that?" Emma asks slowly, blinking tiredly still.

"Mr. Gold. He owns this place," Granny responds tensely.

"The inn?" She questions, her eyebrows raising a little.

"No," Colin cuts in, shaking his head, "the entire town." Granny shakes her head and looks back at Colin. "How long will you be staying, Colin?" He looks at Emma for reference, but she shrugs, deciding that she's too tired to think (or stand on her own—she's back in Colin's arms, half-asleep already). "Just for the weekend, Granny," Colin smiles politely.

"Great," The old woman takes a key from the wall and hands it to him.

"Welcome to Storybrooke."


End file.
